


Subway Rides (Oh, You Keep Me Wondering)

by beyondcanon



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Brittany takes the subway every day. She often sees a brunette with long, black hair and amazing clothes. Brittany wonders if she likes girls, but her gaydar has never been her strong suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sipsofmymiind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sipsofmymiind/gifts).



> 1; Prompt given to me by my wonderful beta sipsofmymind.  
> 2; Also available on my Tumblr and on Ff.net.

I

Brittany takes the subway every day. There are all kinds of people she likes to watch, whose lives she likes to wonder about. What are their families like? Their jobs, their secret passions, their personalities? The way that man in a suit bites his nails betrays his anxiety; the thinness of that old lady’s coat shows her lower class status; the smile on that small girl sitting on her grandfather’s lap displays how caring her grandpa is.

There’s this woman Brittany always sees on her way to the record label she works at in the mornings. She has tanned skin and manicured nails, always in dark colors. Her hair is black, falling to her shoulders gracefully. She has an edge to her that Brittany can’t quite explain. She’s serious, pensive, always reading something or using her Blackberry.

Brittany wonders if she likes girls, but her gaydar has never been her strong suit.

The woman doesn’t look obviously gay. She has perfectly done eyebrows and flawless long hair. She dresses too well, in earth colors, navy blue, white, some red, and lots, lots of black. Her shoes are obviously expensive, and her clothes fit her elegantly. Brittany would guess she’s a lawyer.

Brittany is patient, so she waits a few more days until an obviously good looking blonde passes by. The woman stops typing on her Blackberry to, so very discreetly, check out the blonde’s voluptuous ass. Brittany smiles. Apparently Ms. Lawyer does, indeed, like her women. Brittany wonders, then, if she has a girlfriend. She has never seen the other woman answer a call gently, softly, like one would talk to a lover, but that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe another lawyer?

She feels like a detective, making all those assumptions. She used to read a lot of Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie with her sister back in the day.

 

II

One day, Brittany is standing in the subway train and someone bumps into Ms. Lawyer and makes her trip. Brittany has good reflexes. It comes with the dancing. In a split second, Brittany holds the other woman up, one hand on her arm and the other on her waist, and pulls her close to steady her feet. The woman notices Brittany for the first time, looking into her eyes. Brittany notices her eyes are dark and her lips are too inviting.

“Thank you.” The woman says, taking a step back and standing up properly.

“You’re most welcome.” Brittany answers, well aware of how the other woman’s stare rested on Brittany’s lips for a moment too long.

The woman leaves before saying her name.

 

III

They are fixing some of the trains, and as a result, the working ones are more crowded than usual. Brittany doesn’t complain because, well, it actually makes things too easy. Ms. Lawyer has her suitcase and another briefcase to carry and, whether she wants it or not, she’s too close for comfort. It must be hard to keep her balance wearing those heels, Brittany imagines.

She points to the briefcase with a half smile and the other woman, after a few seconds of consideration, hands it to Brittany and mumbles another thank you. Brittany nods. Being the gentleman she is, she’s ignoring how the woman’s body is brushing against hers, her breasts against Brittany’s left arm.

“This is my stop.” She says after some time, so Brittany returns her briefcase. Brittany focuses on not peeking into the woman’s navy blue shirt and taking advantage of their height difference. “Thank you again…” There’s an awkward pause, the type that generally means the person is waiting for an introduction.

“Brittany.” Brittany answers with a smile, inclining her head politely. The train stops and the doors open. She wishes she had more time to say anything else, to ask questions, to strike up any conversation at all. “You are most welcome…”

“Santana.” The other woman says, and with that she leaves.

 

IV

Brittany is always tired. She works at a record label as an intern in the mornings, in a dance studio as an assistant choreographer in the afternoons, and as a dance teacher at night. That means she doesn’t sleep as much as she should, doesn’t eat as healthy as she should and doesn’t have a social life as active as she’d like.

Sometimes when she’s on the subway on her way to the record label, she can barely keep her eyes open. The weight of her worked hours feels heavy and her workout at the gym sinks into her muscles, and there is a tiredness that spreads through her entire body. She tells herself she will rest on the weekend, maybe go to the park and feed the ducks.

She considers it a victory of some kind when Ms Lawyer looks at her, rolling her eyes and sighing for a moment, and actually gets up from her seat and gestures for Brittany to sit. “C’mon”, she says, looking half annoyed, and Brittany’s heart beats faster as she nods and sits down.

She does, of course, accidentally brush her body against Santana’s as she approaches the seat. The woman smells too good for a subway train. “Thank you.” Brittany says, looking into her eyes. “I can carry your briefcase, if you want.” She smiles her best smile, the one that makes puppies and toddlers fall in love with her, and she almost, almost gets a smile back.

“No, it’s okay.” Santana looks the other way and falls silent again, shooting sneaky glances in Brittany’s direction every now and then.

 

V

There’s a mother and a small girl on the seat next to hers. As expected, the girl falls in love with Brittany the moment she sets eyes on her and shows her a toy, saying “iraff” or something Brittany decides to interpret as “giraffe”, taking into account that her toy was a bright yellow giraffe sticking out its tongue.

Brittany smiles and shows the girl her key chain, a small duck. The girl claps and giggles as the mother tries to apologize, but Brittany says it’s nothing, really, and plays with the girl for a bit until she and her mother leave.

The girl waves at her and she waves back. It doesn’t escape her how Santana looks at her, and how when their eyes meet she looked away and coughs, embarrassed.

 

VI

Santana wears a dark grey pleated skirt and a sleeveless shirt of the same color, and she looks like a vision. She nods in Brittany’s direction, and Brittany sees it as progress and waves. It starts a habit that goes on for many weeks. She knows Santana’s name, they acknowledge each other’s existence… It’s something.

Brittany spends the next few weeks thinking of how to start a conversation with a stranger on the subway. Specially a stranger that, on top of everything, doesn’t seem like the type to interact in any way with people at a subway station. She wonders what that even means. Maybe she should have more friends, pick up a hobby of some sort. She’s thinking too much about a woman she knows too little about.

 

VII

Brittany is taking the last train back home after another long day. She had worked her three jobs and gone to the gym next to the dance studio, so she was sweaty, dressed in her gym clothes, and utterly exhausted. She could barely wait for the moment she would get home, take a nice long bath, and make herself some tea.

It is a pleasant surprise when Santana enters the train, beautiful and impeccably dressed, as always, in a black dress. Maybe she had gone to a company party of some kind, or a very important case had demanded extra hours in the office. It couldn’t have been a date, because what type of person lets his or her date take the subway back home unaccompanied, at such late hours?

Brittany smiles at her and waves shyly, gesturing to the seat next to her. She hopes Santana takes the hint and sits close, ignoring all the dozens of empty seats. If Santana sits close to her, she is going to strike up a conversation. Maybe she’ll even ask for Santana’s phone number and say they could grab a cup of coffee someday.

Santana walks in her direction and Brittany can swear she’s holding back a smile. “Hi, Santana.” Brittany says, feeling a bit self-conscious for sitting on the seat’s back rest, feet resting on the seat, so she awkwardly lowers herself down to the seat and sits properly.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk to strangers?” Santana asks, sitting by Brittany and placing her purse on the other seat. Brittany decides to interpret her tone as an amused one, instead of passive aggressive. After all, if Santana didn’t want to engage in a conversation, why would she sit next to Brittany?

“I do know your name. So we’re not strangers anymore.” Brittany answers, and her logic is so perfect that Santana just nods and looks at her warmly before looking away. Brittany can still smell the faint traces of Santana’s perfume. “Good evening to you, too.”

“Good evening, Brittany.” Santana answers. Brittany specially likes the way her name rolls off Santana’s tongue. “How are you?” Santana crosses her legs, and it does take some effort not to stare. Brittany wonders how a lawyer is allowed to have a body like that and legs like that and skin like that.

“Tired after a long day and a long workout”. Brittany licks her lips, but she doesn’t realize it. She hopes she doesn’t look like the most disgusting person on Earth, exuding some weird sweat smell or something. “You?”

“Long day.” Santana answers, sighing. Her shoulders are a bit slumped, she has well-disguised but noticeable bags under her eyes, and she does look worn out. Brittany thinks she’s still breathtakingly beautiful. “Working too much.”

“Yeah.” Brittany nods, trying to appear cool and not focus on the fact their thighs had just touched.  “Being a lawyer must be hard.”

Santana quirks an eyebrow. “I never told you what I did for work.” All blood disappears from Brittany’s face and she gasps. If she hadn’t gained creepy person status before, this would surely cut the deal. Brittany coughs, as flustered as ever, and Santana runs a hand up and down her back, looking amused.

“I…. guessed?” She answers when air is back in her lungs, raising her eyebrows and making an apologetic face. “You… dress nicely?” Very eloquent, she tells herself, wishing she could just get up and save herself the shame. Santana has a hint of a smile, so at least she doesn’t think Brittany is a serial killer. It doesn’t stop the embarrassment. She rambles on, “Not that I know what lawyers wear, see, I work in the music business and what do dancers understand about laws and lawyers?” Brittany’s face feels warm and she knows she must be as red as a tomato, but Santana’s smile grows with every word she says. “But I used to watch TV shows with my mom and you wore that Calvin Klein suit the other day and I knew you could be a lawyer, and your briefcases too, they’re very…” Brittany feels ridiculous and hides her face in her hands. “I should just stop talking.”

Santana laughs, a type of unrestrained laugh that moves her entire body as she throws her head back. Brittany peeks through her fingers before hiding her face again, wishing she could die in a corner. “No, please, continue.” Santana says, resting her head on her hand, hair falling and exposing neck.

“I don’t know? I just wondered.” Brittany answers, not sure of what she could say. She had made a fool of herself quite well already. “You have a Blackberry, too. That’s another thing. And lots of files. You’re always going through a stack of papers?” Santana nods, encouragingly. “Not books, not those printed versions of books. So you probably don’t work as a publisher.” Brittany sighs in defeat. “You can go now and never talk to me again.”

Santana falls silent for a few seconds, sizing Brittany up from head to toe and making Brittany increasingly nervous. “Don’t worry. See you around, Brittany the dancer.” She says, smiling, and with that, she leaves the train.

 

VIII

The next time Brittany sees Santana, she blushes furiously and Santana smiles. The pattern repeats itself three times before Santana goes to her and asks if the cat got her tongue. Brittany shakes her head but says nothing. Santana grins and sits next to her. “So, have you found out if I’m single or not?”

Brittany’s eyes widen. “I’m not… I mean, you’re not—“ She stops to gather her thoughts. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” Santana answers, picking at the hem of her own white shirt. She leans in, until she’s invading Brittany’s personal space, and Brittany swallows dryly. “Single? Gay? A lawyer?” She pauses, staring into Brittany’s eyes. “You tell me, Sherlock.”

The train stops and Santana leaves. Brittany watches her go, hypnotized.

 

IX

Brittany is not a coward. She left her hometown to begin a new life in New York when she was barely 17; she works three jobs; she has been a dancer in Beyoncé’s world tour. She can definitely ask a random woman out. She’s 26, for the love of God. Santana is standing near the door, typing something on her Blackberry, gorgeous as always in white and navy blue.

“Let’s go out for coffee.” She says, and Santana lifts an eyebrow and stops typing. “You, me, coffee. You can tell me what you do and I can tell you what I do.” Her heart is beating so fast she could pass out at any time. Santana puts her phone in her purse. “You might even stop thinking I’m a crazy stalker.”

Santana seems to think for a few moments. “Today, five o’clock. You choose where we’re going. ” She gives Brittany her card. “Don’t disappoint.” Brittany smiles.

 

X

If she had thought Santana to be pretty inside a subway train, at normal daylight she was simply stunning. Brittany took her time just looking at her, navy blue skirt and white shirt, dark hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves. She was sitting on an armchair, reading some paper, brow furrowed in concentration, as the sunlight seeped into the coffee shop’s large windows and reached her skin.

“Hi.” Brittany says, taking a seat in front of Santana.

“Hello, stranger.” Santana answered with a smile, putting her papers aside. “I took the liberty of ordering an espresso, if you don’t mind.” The small cup rested on top of her files, empty. Brittany looked at her and shook her head, biting her lower lip.

A small, nervous silence falls as Brittany searches for something, anything to say. She isn’t very good at first dates, especially with people she doesn’t know, and her former confidence seems to be disappearing by the second.

Santana looks anything if amused. She touches Brittany’s knee and runs a thumb over it. It tickles. “You could start by telling me all about yourself.”


	2. Chapter 2

XI

There’s a funny feeling in Brittany’s stomach every time she enters the subway after that; a mix of expectation and silly hope. She doesn’t see Santana every day, but maybe she just might. Maybe she’ll see Santana and they’ll talk for a bit, like two acquaintances instead of two strangers. Maybe Santana will smile at her and sit by her side.

It takes six days for it to happen, and Santana does smile at her. It starts slow, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly, as if she’s holding back. When Brittany waves at her and comes closer, it turns into a full smile, reaching her eyes and showing her beautiful teeth. It’s absolutely contagious.

Brittany is lucky enough that the seat next to Santana becomes empty in a few moments. She sits next to Santana and looks at her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Brittany.” Santana says, eyes lingering on Brittany’s lips. Brittany’s mouth feels dry as she wonders what it would be like to kiss Santana and smear that lipstick of hers. She, too, can’t help but stare at Santana’s lips. Their thighs are brushing; Brittany can feel the warmth through the fabric. Santana’s scent overrides every other, wood and honey and something else.

 

XII

Brittany has been staring at her phone for at least ten minutes. She has Santana’s card in her right hand, her left fingers drumming on her dining table. She should call. It would be the polite thing to do after a date. Not that she knew if it had been a date. She didn’t generally go on dates with people she meets on the subway. But what if she doesn’t call and then runs into her again on the train? That would be embarrassing. She has to call.

Taking a deep breath, Brittany dials the number. Each ring makes her more and more nervous. One. Breathe. Two. Breathe. Three. “Hello there.” Santana’s smooth voice answers. Brittany smiles.

“Hey.” Brittany pauses for a moment. “I was just calling because I realized I still don’t know what you do for a living.” She bites her own lip, very pleased with herself. That was a smart move.

“And yet, I know all about the music studio and the kid recovering from a car accident in your ballroom class.” Santana says with a hint of tease in her voice that makes Brittany blush furiously. “Funny, isn’t it?”

She feels suddenly relieved Santana can’t see her red cheeks and clears her throat before answering, “I guess I’m not a good detective, after all.”

“We should meet up again so you can continue your investigation.” Santana says nonchalantly, and Brittany’s heart flutters in her ribcage. It is hard to believe Santana had actually enjoyed talking to her.

She feels braver. “Maybe tomorrow?”

 

XIII

It’s night already, warm and slow. The bar isn’t too crowded; there are just a few men and women enjoying a few beers. Generally, at this hour Brittany would be teaching contemporary dance, but the class had been canceled. Santana asks the bartender for more shots of tequila.

It’s the first time Brittany sees Santana out of her work clothes. Her raven hair falls in soft waves on her naked shoulders, her collarbone exposed; her black dress hugs every curve of her body a little too much and allows for too much thigh exposure; her lipstick is red and inviting.

When she briefly touches Brittany’s knee, it sends a jolt through Brittany’s entire body. It might be the three shots they have already had, but they’re leaning towards each other, and Santana’s cleavage is almost overwhelming in that angle. The faint smell of lemon reaches her nose, traces from previous shots.

Brittany really wants to kiss Santana.

She also decides she has to be bold. “You know, I’m reaching several conclusions.” She says, placing a hand on Santana’s thigh. She holds her breath for a moment, but Santana doesn’t seem to mind and makes no move to shake it off. That’s good.

The bartender places the shots on the counter, but Santana ignores him and holds Brittany’s gaze. “Do tell.” Santana speaks in a low, sultry tone, as she traces Brittany’s hand lightly; it sends shivers through her.

Brittany feels all her blood flooding south already. She takes a deep breath; does her heart always beat this wildly? “You’re single.” She can’t help but notice Santana’s lips are parted. “You probably wouldn’t have coffee with me if you weren’t.” She pauses, fingers running along Santana’s thigh slowly. “But mostly, you wouldn’t take me to a bar if you had another girl in your life.”

Santana lifts one eyebrow, the right corner of her mouth lifting in a faint smile. “Girl?”

“Just a feeling.” Brittany leans in even closer. She tilts her head, hovering over Santana’s lips as she waits for a reaction. Santana doesn’t answer; instead, she closes the distance and covers Brittany’s lips with her own.

 

XIV

Kissing Santana exceeds all expectations. Santana kisses soft and teasing, her thumb running along Brittany’s jaw as her fingers rest on her neck. She kisses Brittany’s lower lip, pulling softly. Brittany whimpers, but the sound is muffled by Santana’s lips on hers again. Brittany nudges Santana’s upper lip and takes a slow, light bite.

She feels dizzy and it is going too slow; she runs the tip of her tongue on Santana’s lip, asking for an entrance that is promptly granted. Santana tastes a little like tequila, but Brittany doesn’t mind. Santana is in no rush; their tongues sliding against each other are almost lazy. Brittany’s stomach is in knots, on the floor and flying away at the same time; her skin crawls when Santana sucks her tongue.

The sound of Santana’s cell phone ringing breaks them apart. Brittany watches Santana lick her lips, their faces still so close and her own hand still on Santana’s thigh, burning. “Not bad, Sherlock.” Santana smirks before standing up to take her call. Brittany has to hold back her silly grin because she was obviously _not bad_ , and if the way Santana was looking at her was any indication, not bad was actually impressively good.

Santana comes back and doesn’t sit on the stool again. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” She pauses. Brittany frowns. Had she done something wrong?  “Work.”

“Oh.” Brittany nods, trying to hide her disappointment. “Okay.” There isn’t much to say.

Santana rolls her eyes. “No need to look at me like that.” She says, joining their lips. It takes Brittany by surprise, but she doesn’t complain. Santana cups her face, pulling her lower lip, before breaking away. “See you.”

She leaves, walking with a sway on her hips that is nothing but intentional.

 

XV

Brittany spends the next morning daydreaming about Santana’s lips, Santana’s skin and Santana’s tight black dress. When she goes to bed, Santana sneaks into her dreams, whispering words in her ear and pressing against her.

 

XVI

She doesn’t see Santana coming. She’s distracted by the music coming out of her ear buds and checking how many stops there are left when she feels someone’s arm against her as she stands in front of the doors.

She grins a little when she looks to her side and it’s no one other than Ms. Possibly A Lawyer But Who Knows, in a shirt so red that the air around it must be a few degrees warmer. “Hi.” Santana says, brushing her hand against Brittany’s. It’s enough to make Brittany’s heart race.

“Hi.” She answers, nudging Santana. “Come here often?” Brittany asks in a light tone. Santana laughs a bit and rolls her eyes. It feels comfortable and uncomplicated, and Brittany doesn’t mind that most of their ride together is silent.

Their hands touch the entire way.

 

XVII

When her phone rings and she sees Santana’s name on the screen, she rushes to the bathroom. “Hi.” She says, a little breathless. “You called.”

“I did.” Santana says, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I was wondering how you’ve been.”

“That’s nice.” Brittany replies softly. The implied meaning that Santana cared enough to wonder about her day and to ask if she was okay is new and exciting. Brittany bites her lower lip, leaning against the tile wall. “I’ve been, you know, working. The show’s opening night is next week.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“It’s getting crazy around here.” Brittany smiles against her phone and pauses for a moment. “I could get you a ticket, you know. I have connections.” The sound of Santana’s laugh is beautiful and free and Brittany wants to hear it again and again.

 

XVIII

Brittany loves the thrill of organizing an event. She loves how it all develops by stages and how the seed of an idea grows enough to have a team of its own and how it transforms into reality. She loves the myriad of small details that must come together unsuspected and silent in order to make it happen.

She loves the rustling of the backstage, people walking around, dancers getting ready, sound being checked for the 5th time, the producer commanding his small army, makeup artists finishing their touches.

She’s been on her feet for the last couple of hours, running errands. She forgets her feet hurt when the music starts and she has a window to actually see the show she played a part in develop in front of her eyes. Her own job seems to have multiplied into a thousand other jobs, but she doesn’t mind. She even forgets Santana is coming to the opening because there are dancers and rehearsals at first and calls to make, errands to run and a show to witness, at last.

She always gets nervous before a performance, even if she’s not one of the dancers anymore. When the stage is dark, the audience is silent and everyone is in position, she holds her breath. The red spotlight breaks through the darkness and the lead dancers begin to move.

It is beautiful.

 

XIX

It hits Brittany harder than it should when she sees Santana in a tight, short black dress and their eyes lock.

Never mind the fact everyone is leaving and she should probably be doing something. Never mind that someone has just bumped into her; she sees nothing but Santana leaning against a wall, hair falling down her shoulders, luscious and enticing.

Brittany walks to her, trying not to trip in the process. “You came.” She says in a hushed tone, biting her lip. One of her hands tucks a stray of blond hair behind her ear, because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Santana answers with a small grin. “And I’m impressed.” She stretches her hand and Brittany takes it, registering how her skin contrasts with Santana’s for a second before Santana is pulling her closer and wrapping her arms around Brittany’s waist.

Thinking is no easy task when she’s pressed against Santana like that. “Well, I —I mean, you know, I played a very small part—” Santana’s thumbs are running circles on the small of her back, electrifying her body from head to toe. There are people around them, there’s the sound of chatter and things being moved around, there’s music coming from somewhere; still, she has never felt this close to someone, this comfortable.

Santana smiles at her, and she smiles right back.


	3. Chapter 3

XX

The afternoon before their last show, the head choreographer says he wants to talk to Brittany. He tells her she’s doing great; she’s perceptive, dedicated, and organized. Brittany nods and grins, not quite sure of what he’s trying to say.

Then he says he wants to talk about new opportunities. What are her plans? What does she want to do with her life? Does she want to pursue a career as a choreographer? He knows she has other jobs, but he wants to know which one is her first option.

He’s interested in what she has to say; that’s something new.

The thirty minutes that follow are thrilling. She has ideas; she has ambition; she has plans. She shows him how much she wants to conceive a performance that will move an audience, how much she could do, if given an opportunity.

When someone calls his name and he has to leave, she has a smile on her face.

 

XXI

She knows Santana is going to be late because they have been exchanging text messages throughout the day. Her Latin Rhythms class is just over; she chats a bit with a few students before she sees that Santana texted her to say she’s almost leaving.

They’re about to meet on the subway on purpose. That should mean something. Maybe. Brittany grabs her things and walks to the nearest station. It shouldn’t be long before she’s on Santana’s track. She tries to guess which color Santana will be wearing: navy blue? Black and white, maybe? Grey?

Santana is wearing a grey pantsuit. Score. Her hair is tied up in an elegant bun and her nails are a dark red this time. Brittany smiles at her and sits by her side. “Hey there.” Santana says, the corners of her mouth lifting. She’s tired: her shoulders aren’t so straight and she’s blinking slowly, like she’s too sleepy to keep her eyes open.

“Hey.” Brittany answers slowly, studying Santana. “You look tired.” Even though she barely knows Santana, even though they had only been on two dates, even though they kissed only three times, Brittany worries.

“Sometimes I can’t sleep.” It’s all Santana answers, with a tired sigh. There’s a long pause. “I’ll survive. Don’t worry.”

Brittany nods. There’s a small silence before she opens her purse; she’s glad she made one last stop before reaching the subway. “I got you this.” She takes a small box and gives it to Santana. “I love them, so I thought you’d like one too.” She bites her lip as Santana examines the pink box, curious, and finally opens it.

Santana smiles and looks at Brittany fondly. “A cupcake?” Brittany nods and shrugs, holding back a smile. “You’re one of a kind, you know that?” Her hand covers Brittany’s for a moment. “Thank you.” She says earnestly, and Brittany wishes they could kiss for the fourth time right then. But they can’t, not in the middle of a subway train; Santana takes a bite and can’t avoid the pink frosting that clings to the tip of her nose.

Brittany laughs softly and wipes it off with the tip of her finger.

 

XXII

Brittany spots Mike from afar: it’s hard not to notice a tall, handsome Asian with those abs and those arms. He’s waiting for her just outside the restaurant they always choose for their Thursday lunches.

His smile is the biggest she has ever seen. “Guess who doesn't have to worry about the end of the season anymore? Guess who has just escaped unemployment? Guess who has just signed a two year contract with the company?”

“Oh my God!” She screams and jumps in his arms; they laugh together as he spins her around. “My turn.” She slaps his chest lightly.  “Guess who talked to the choreographer for a full half hour about what she thinks and what she wants? Guess who won’t work part time anymore? Guess who is getting a raise?”

They do the Victory Dougie together and sing an impromptu Celebratory Rap Song.

 

XXIII

The next time she sees Santana, the tiredness and the melancholy are still there. Santana’s wearing black boots that reach deliciously up to her mid-thighs; her shorts are barely there and her loose shirt doesn’t compensate for the attention her legs are drawing. She winks at Brittany and sips her wine when their eyes meet.

Brittany frowns as she approaches Santana. “You’re still not sleeping.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement of obvious truth. The bar stool Santana is sitting on provides the perfect height difference for Brittany to wrap her arms around Santana’s neck and for Santana to place her hands on the back of Brittany’s thighs and pull her closer.

Santana looks up into Brittany’s eyes and joins their lips without saying anything. She kisses Brittany’s lower lip; she kisses Brittany’s upper lip; she sighs when Brittany pulls her lower lip between her own. It’s wonderful. She’s warm against Brittany, and Brittany decides she likes this position, standing between Santana’s legs.

“You need to work on that sleeping problem.” Brittany runs a hand through Santana’s hair; Santana leans into the touch and closes her eyes. Brittany continues, scratching Santana’s scalp, massaging her head with the tip of her fingers and enjoying the sensation of soft, long locks of hair around her fingers.

“I do.” Santana gives in when she opens her eyes again. “It’ll go away eventually, when I’m tired enough.”

Brittany shakes her head. “That’s called ‘avoiding the problem’, you know.” She tries to give Santana a pointed look, but probably fails. She’s not good at that, and Santana’s content face when Brittany plays with her hair is disarming enough.

 

XXIV

The bar’s lounge area is even better, with its large, comfortable booths and dim lightening. It feels very private and relaxing, soft jazz playing somewhere in the background. Brittany places her hand over Santana and play with her fingers as she sips her wine.

Her chest constricts at the vision of Santana so tired, so introspective. “Come here.” She says, opening her arms; Santana’s only answer is a confused frown. “You’re exhausted. Come here and lean into me so you can relax.” She pats the space between her legs and wiggles her eyebrows.

Santana rolls her eyes with a smile, but does it anyway. “You’re just trying to seduce me.” She jokes, but still sighs when her back meets Brittany’s front and she stretches her legs, head falling back to Brittany’s shoulder. “And it’s working.”

Brittany’s arms sneak around Santana’s waist. Santana intertwines their fingers as they settle for the perfect fit, her cold hands making Brittany shiver. “I didn’t even have to try very hard.” She says to Santana’s ear, kissing the place just below the earlobe.

Santana hums and closes her eyes. She has this scent, like wood and fresh honey; it envelops Brittany completely.

 

XXV

“You made the right decision.” Santana says; it’s funny to see how her expression changes when confronted with a serious subject. “It’s what you want for your career, isn’t it?” She pauses to look at Brittany; Brittany just nods. “You can’t work three part time jobs forever. You have to choose eventually.”

“I know.” Brittany sighs, playing with Santana’s fingers. “But I really like the studio. I’ve worked there for a while. Today was so sad, when I told everybody I’d leave.”

A long silence falls; Brittany thinks about the studio, her friends there and how much she loved it. “You gotta do what you gotta do.” Santana answers, squeezing Brittany’s hand. “Another career is giving you more room to grow. You should take the opportunities thrown your way.”

“You’re right.” Brittany has a feeling Santana is also talking about herself, but she decides not to comment on that. The wine makes her head light and she has a lot to think about. For a few minutes, Brittany doesn’t say anything at all.

The empty wine glasses sit on the small table next to them; Santana dozes off before the waiter finally comes to take it away.

 

XXVI

Brittany loses track of time, but she knows it’s late already. Santana looks peaceful in her sleep; her eyes are closed, her breathing is deep and rhythmic and she still has a hand over Brittany’s.

Other clients have already left when Santana’s phone rings and wakes her up. She has the most adorable look of confusion on her face when she looks around and yawns before grabbing her phone and answering. She agrees a few times; she runs a hand through her hair and she says thank you before setting it back on the table.

Santana changes positions so she’s facing Brittany. “Did I really fall asleep on top of you?” Brittany bites her lower lip and nods, trying to hold back the laughter. “For thirty five minutes?” Brittany nods again; Santana hides her face in her hands for a few seconds before looking at Brittany again. “I just slept in the middle of our date. I’m the worst date in the history of dates.”

Brittany shrugs. “I didn’t have the guts to wake you up. You looked like you needed it.”

“I’m sorry.” She says, and she kisses Brittany for the fifth time. Brittany doesn’t mind if Santana falls asleep during every single date if she’s going to kiss Brittany like this every time, pressing their bodies together, nails scratching the back of Brittany’s neck, teeth grazing the inner part of Brittany’s lip and the tip of her tongue following the same path.

Santana bites Brittany’s lower lip, and then she does it again, until Brittany whimpers in Santana’s mouth and pulls her closer. Santana straddles Brittany’s lap, grabbing a fistful of blond hair as she deepens the kiss. Their tongues slide against each other and Santana lets out a moan; Brittany wants to hear it again and again.

Santana tastes like Merlot when Brittany sucks her tongue; she’s hot to the touch when Brittany’s hands find their way under her shirt and roam all over her back, exploring. She’s all shallow breaths and tiny whimpers against Santana’s mouth; it should be embarrassing how worked up she’s getting.

Her hands go to Santana’s ass and squeeze, bringing Santana down against her. Santana breaks the kiss to let out another long moan, biting her own lip. “You’re very good at apologies.” Brittany mumbles, and she feels Santana smiling when they join their lips again.

 

XXVII

Brittany raises her eyebrows when the BMW arrives. Santana opens the door for her. “Don’t worry, I’m not secretly a millionaire. It’s not mine; I’m just… borrowing for tonight.” The interior is all leather and there’s a driver wearing a uniform. A uniform.

Brittany stretches her hand and touches the seat in awe. “Is this real life?”

Santana laughs and closes the door. “Hi Tony. This is Brittany. Brittany, this is Tony.” She introduces them, her hand falling on Brittany’s thigh with ease.

Brittany scoots forward and places her hands on the driver’s seat. “Nice to meet you, Tony. Is Santana secretly a millionaire? Is her father Bill Gates or something?” She asks, and Tony laughs deep but shakes his head. “Is she a spy?” He shakes his head again.

Santana nudges Brittany so she sits properly on her seat again, turning to Santana. Santana’s smiling. “See, Tony doesn’t tell anyone my secrets. It’s in his contract.”

“It’s true, Miss Brittany. I can’t say a word to anyone about what goes on in this vehicle.” The driver says with a smile as the car makes a turn.

“Not fair.” Brittany whines, resting her head on the crook of Santana’s neck as Santana apparently sends a text message. “How am I going to find out things about you if no one can tell me anything?”

“It just makes things more interesting.” Santana teases, kissing Brittany’s forehead.

 

XXVIII

Brittany pouts. She’s leaning against the BMW; Santana is in front of her, hands on her waist. “You make me feel like a cartoon villain when you look at me like that.” She says, taking a step forward and pressing her body against Brittany’s.

She starts kissing Brittany’s neck; Brittany sighs and melts against her. It’s not fair game, not at all. “Are you sure you have to go?” She manages to ask, gripping Santana’s shoulders.

“I do.” Santana pauses and looks at Brittany. Brittany waits for her to continue; she finally gives in. “I have a plane to catch in three hours and I haven’t packed.”

Brittany’s eyes widen. “And you were out with me when you could be sleeping? Santana!”

“Being with you beats rolling around in my bed for hours failing to sleep.” She answers, her face barely a breath away from Brittany’s. “And I wanted to see you before I left.” It’s really hard for Brittany to be mad at her when she does that.

“When will you be back?” Brittany pouts again.

Santana kisses the pout away, lingering on Brittany’s lips for a few seconds. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll be away for a few days.” She kisses Brittany one last time, tongue rolling against Brittany’s, fingertips clinging to Brittany’s hips.


	4. Chapter 4

XXIX

Mike calls Brittany to inform her it’s a beautiful day outside. It’s a sunny Saturday, and Santana is still out of town. Brittany agrees to that, and she knows she has no option when he says he’ll be there in 20 and she better be ready.

He arrives hand in hand with Tina; they have a picnic basket. They’re sweethearts who have been inseparable since high school; they’re steady and reliable and Tina looks at Mike like he’s the best thing she has ever had.

They go to a park and they lie on the grass; Mike has his head on Tina’s stomach and Brittany has her head on Tina’s thighs. Brittany stares at the sky and the three of them talk softly, in no rush, for hours.

XXX

The days stretch now that Santana isn’t around; text messages aren’t enough. Brittany goes to work and teaches and plans and eats, but sometimes she thinks of Santana and the way they fit.

XXXI

It’s Friday and it’s been a long week.

Brittany’s phone rings when she’s leaving work. “When you texted saying you were just about to leave, I thought you could use a ride.” Santana says, and Brittany’s heart races. She runs down the stairs, and when the building’s doors open and she steps onto the street, Santana is leaning against the BMW.

She has a smug smile, like she knows exactly how charming she’s being, with the car waiting for Brittany. She’s in blue jeans and boots and a button down and a vest; Brittany has to stop to just look at her, because she has never seen her in anything less than power suits and tight dresses and this informal look is a sight for sore eyes.

She loves to look at Santana like this, when the sun is gentle and the night hasn’t arrived. Santana’s skin looks the best in natural light, and Brittany walks to her and touches her face. “You’re gorgeous,” she says, settling in front of Santana so that their bodies are touching fully, and when the wind blows it’s all wood and honey and _Santana_ and they haven’t seen each other in twelve whole days.

Santana’s hands find the small of Brittany’s back, making sure Brittany can’t step away. “It’s your eyes,” she answers as her cold fingertips sneak under Brittany’s shirt. They stay like that for a moment -- Brittany wants to keep it all in her memory: the sun, the wind blowing locks of their hair, and Santana’s smile.

XXXII

The car comes to a stop. “Maybe, you—” Brittany pauses. Santana is running her thumb on Brittany’s thigh, and Brittany’s legs are on top of Santana’s, and even though Santana just said she would give Brittany a ride, maybe she would like to do something else too? “I thought, you know. You could come upstairs.”

“Of course,” Santana answers, the corners of her lips turning upwards in a slow smile. Brittany can’t help but stare, because Santana’s lips are full and lustful and their last kiss was thirteen days before. Santana seems to have noticed, because she wets her lips with the tip of her tongue in the slowest of motions as she looks straight into Brittany’s eyes.

Tony coughs and interrupts the moment. “So, when should I be back?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Santana answers, eyes never leaving Brittany’s. “Enjoy your Friday night, Tony.” She leaves the car and extends a hand for Brittany to take; Brittany raises her eyebrows at the nonchalant gesture, but takes it and gets off the car.

“And you haven’t told me why you went away.” Brittany teases as they enter the building. Their hands remain clasped together, palm against palm and fingers intertwined. Brittany’s heart is racing in anticipation; the old elevator is taking too long; it’s the first time she’s going to be alone with Santana.

“But that would kill all the fun.” Santana finally answers as the elevator doors open and they walk towards Brittany’s apartment. “And you’re the one who started this guessing game, not me.” She looks awfully amused, holding back a smile. She lets go of Brittany’s hand so the door can be opened.

For a second before the door opens, Brittany silently hopes that the place is clean and presentable.

XXXIII

There’s not much to see, but she gives Santana the tour anyway. The living room with its gigantic DVD collection (“It’s my roommate’s, she’s an actress”) and gigantic Barbra Streisand poster (“It’s probably nose inspiration for my roommate or something”); the tiny kitchen (“we don’t actually cook anything beyond macaroni with vegan cheese or salads”); the white bathroom and, finally, Brittany’s bedroom and its posters and pictures and magazines (“I like having pretty things on my walls”).

Brittany pours some wine for the two of them. Santana stands behind her, hands on her waist. “I missed you.” Santana tells her after a long silence. It’s delicate and quiet and it’s Brittany who turns around, places a hand on the back of Santana’s neck and initiates their eighth kiss.

It’s their best kiss so far. Santana’s lips open promptly to Brittany, and she tilts her head just right, grasping Brittany’s shirt. Brittany sucks on Santana’s tongue, earning a moan, and Santana presses harder against Brittany the more she sucks and massages, so she takes her time.

Brittany uses the hand on the back of Santana’s neck to take control of the kiss, biting Santana’s lower lip, then her upper lip, and having her tongue enter Santana’s mouth again, against the roof of her mouth, her teeth; their tongues slide together deliciously and Brittany whimpers.

It’s not nearly enough; she walks them both a few steps until Santana is against a wall and Brittany’s mouth is on that neck. Santana’s breath is erratic as Brittany places wet kisses from the base of her neck to just below her ear; she growls when Brittany stops and sucks with purpose on her pulsing point.

Santana’s hips jerk to meet Brittany’s and it’s just enough to create the first friction. “Kiss me.” Santana demands, tugging at Brittany’s hair and clashing their mouths together. It’s all teeth and tongue and it hurts in a good way when Santana bites and pulls Brittany’s lip and when she scratches Brittany’s lower back like she means it.

Brittany hisses, and she can feel Santana’s smile when they kiss again, lips already sore and sensitive. She places her thigh between Santana’s, turning the smile into a long drawn moan. Brittany adds pressure and Santana holds on to her, head thrown back and lips parted, as she rolls her hips back and forth onto Brittany’s thigh.

“I— I need” Santana tries to form words; her hand covers Brittany’s breast and there’s too much clothing in the way.

XXXIV

When Brittany hears two very familiar voices singing Don’t Rain On My Parade and the front door busts open she almost curses. Santana freezes in place and the both of them turn their heads to see a short, pale, flamboyant young man and an even shorter, tanned, loud young woman enter the apartment singing their hearts out.

“Your friends, I hope?” Santana asks, still grabbing a handful of Brittany’s shirt. The singing continues throughout the living room, and if there was any doubt about their state of drunkenness it ends when the both of them trip on the couch and fall on it, laughing.

“My roommate Rachel and her gay best friend Kurt,” Brittany answers with a sigh and takes a step back. So much for a mood killer. “Who were supposed to be out late tonight.”

“Rachel, look who’s there!” Kurt says excitedly and stands up. “She has company.” He adds in a very loud whisper.

“Santana, these are Kurt and Rachel. Guys, this is Santana.” Brittany introduces Santana as politely as she can.

“I’ve heard about you.” Rachel says, pointing drunkenly at Santana. Brittany’s eyes widen; she told Rachel about Santana… But Rachel wasn’t going to say anything, right? “I know you. You’re all mystery and sexy clothes.”

“Oh, really?” Santana looks entertained, at least. Brittany blushes furiously as she stands there, unsure of what to do and where to put her hands. Santana looks at Brittany and reaches for her hand, pulling her closer. “Do tell.”

“I have drawn my own conclusions in this matter with my impressive powers of deduction.” Rachel continues, ignoring Brittany’s glare. “Tell us the truth, Santana: are you an international call girl?”

Santana laughs free and untamed, and she squeezes Brittany’s hand. “I am not.”

“Is Oprah your godmother? Are you Batwoman? Tell me everything!” Rachel approaches Santana, trying to look intimidating and failing. Santana shakes her head; Rachel huffs.

“Stop interrogating the poor girl, Rachel. Let’s have cosmopolitans and behave like the well-educated, sexually flexible young people we are.” Kurt places his hands on Rachel’s shoulders and they immediately get distracted by the liquor cabinet.

Brittany looks at Santana. “I’m really, really, really sorry. When they drink they always get out of control and--”

“It’s okay.” Santana wraps her arms around Brittany and kisses her softly; Brittany closes her eyes and cups Santana’s cheeks. She feels Santana’s breathing and her humming against Brittany’s lips. Brittany wishes she could always feel this warm, this calm. “It’s not your fault.”

“I missed you too.” Brittany says, running a hand through Santana’s hair.

“Good to know.” Santana answers, laughing softly against Brittany collarbone when an impromptu duet of Defying Gravity begins. “Maybe I should go.”

Kurt enters the kitchen holding a bottle of vodka. “Absolutely not! We must know everything about you and the hair products you use on that beautiful, lusty, silky dark hair.”

XXXV

It ends up being a pleasant night; Kurt and Rachel are, first and foremost, entertainers. They make drinks and talk about musicals and movies and Santana does know a thing or two to keep the conversation going.

When West Side Story is mentioned, Santana sings America with a perfect Puerto Rican accent and a few choreographed gestures. Rachel looks absolutely delighted when they perform a duet of A Boy Like That.

“I didn’t know you could sing.” Brittany says, in awe. Her hand is nestled between Santana’s, on her lap, and they’re leaning against each other comfortably. There’s something about having Santana physically close Brittany can’t explain, something almost inevitable.

Santana shrugs and gives her a peck on the lips. “High school. No big deal,” she answers. “I was in the school musical. Fun times,” she rolls her eyes at Brittany’s open mouth and nudges Brittany with her shoulder.

“She’s a good one, Brittany.” Kurt says, giving an approving nod to Santana over his cosmo. “I like her.”

“I like her too.” Brittany answers; Santana wraps an arm around her and kisses the place below her ear. Brittany shivers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work with the most amazing beta team. Thank you to Pri and Air for everything.

XXXVI

Brittany hesitates for a moment in front of the coffee shop’s large glass door. It’s early evening and a light breeze envelops her every once in a while as she looks inside, where Santana and her best friend are sitting.

She doesn’t know much: Quinn has known Santana since kindergarten and they live together; Quinn is elegant and smart, blond, and in Santana’s words, “looking at her is like watching an old film.” Apparently, she decided that Brittany and Santana have reached a significant enough point in their time line to require her approval.

Santana told her not to worry, that Quinn’s all bark and no bite; but Brittany finds it hard to believe.

She takes a deep breath and opens the door. Santana’s sitting to the far right, a glass of wine in her hand as she laughs at something. Their eyes lock within a few seconds and Santana stretches her hand out for Brittany to take. She’s smiling and Brittany can do nothing but smile right back.

“Hi.” She sits by Santana’s side and they share a quick kiss.

“If Santana’s not dating two tall blonds at once, you must be Brittany,” Quinn says, a hint of a grin at the left corner of her mouth. “I’m Quinn Fabray.”

She is exactly like Santana described. Quinn’s posture is impeccable, straight shoulders and crossed feet under the table; her blond hair falls softly on her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the green dress she’s wearing, and her makeup is barely noticeable; her perfume reminds Brittany of blossoming flowers and autumn leaves.

She decides she likes Quinn. “Nice to meet you, Quinn. I can’t wait until you tell me embarrassing stories about Santana.”

Quinn’s grin turns malicious, and Santana’s eyes widen. “Wouldn’t that be nice? I do have a few to share.” She pauses, as if to savor the moment. “You know, she used to have this infatuation with Kylie Minogue—”

“That we should not discuss right away,” Santana interrupts, avoiding Brittany’s eyes. “We could always talk about the weather, or the Olympics, because really—”

Quinn doesn’t even blink as she continues, “It was the same phase when she wanted to be a rock star and she used to wear those—”

Santana coughs and Brittany laughs. “Excuse me?” She says as Brittany runs a hand through Santana’s hair, reassuring. It feels different to see Santana with someone else, to see her vulnerable and unguarded. “Can’t we leave that buried and forgotten? We all make mistakes and—”

Quinn, on the other hand, looks like she’s having the time of her life. “Oh, there was also a moment in college when she had a thing for cowgirls. I don’t even—”

“God.” Santana hides her face in her hands as Brittany and Quinn laugh together. Brittany swears she can see Santana blushing – it’s absolutely adorable.

“Okay, we’ll stop,” she says in Santana’s ear, kissing her jaw and pulling her closer. “So, Quinn, what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, Santana warned me about this,” Quinn grins before sipping her drink. “I know all about your guessing game. However, I have decided you do need to keep the investigation going.” She pauses and examines Brittany’s features, as if measuring her words. “Long story short, I work at a law firm, as a political liaison. You could say I’m behind a few politicians.”

“She’s a very good manipulator,” Santana grins maliciously.

Quinn’s smile is an exact copy. Brittany sees the silent understanding between them. “That I am.”

XXXVII

“Quinn is nice,” Brittany states, nudging Santana with her shoulder.

“Quinn is embarrassing,” Santana shakes her head. Her pull on Brittany’s hand is soft, but firm, as she takes Brittany through the entrance of her building.

“But that’s the best part.” Brittany looks around at modern and glass and mirror; the building is as impeccable as a palace. “I now have 21 stories to blackmail you with.”

Santana shakes her head as they enter the elevator. Brittany watches the way her hair moves. “She likes you.”

When Santana lets go of her hand, Brittany immediately misses it. She tries not to show it. “How do you know?”

Santana grins, watching the number go up on the display. “She told you about the Mexican tequila. She never tells anyone the tequila story.”

Brittany smiles. A comfortable silence settles, Santana taking a quick look at herself in the mirror.

The door opens. “The apartment has belonged to Quinn’s family for a few decades now,” Santana explains as she searches for her keys. “We’ve lived here together since we came to New York.”

Brittany just nods, trying to imagine the place. Would it be as refined as Quinn, as certain as Santana? Would it transpire wealth, like the building, and would it have Santana’s sharpness or Quinn’s perception?

Santana looks into Brittany’s eyes for a long time, searching. “Let’s see what conclusions you draw from it.” She takes Brittany’s hand again; it feels calm, like a last minute assurance. Santana’s smile as she opens the door is warm.

“Just one thing,” Brittany closes the door and leans against it, pulling Santana close, “before you give me the tour.”

She joins their lips, feeling Santana’s smile against hers. Her hands rest on Santana’s hips, holding her in place, and Santana’s hands go to Brittany’s hair, pulling as she bites Brittany’s lip and kisses her slowly and surely, deepening the kiss.

Their tongues rub together and Santana unashamedly presses Brittany against the door. Santana’s nails scratch Brittany’s neck, down her shoulders; Brittany shivers.

They part for air and Santana clears her throat. “Well, and that is the door to the apartment.”

Brittany laughs.

XXXIX

Brittany looks around – the apartment is, first and foremost, spacious. “You could throw a debutant ball in here,” she says, and Santana grins. There are dark and hot colors, like she imagined Santana’s place should be; but there are also soft, earthly tones, so very like Quinn.

Curtains are a cobalt green as heavy as aristocracy, and the rugs are a fluffy warm gray; there are bright red cushions on the white couch, and Brittany wonders how they made this combination work. She walks towards the gigantic windows and stops for a moment, admiring New York at night.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Santana stands next to her. She pauses for a little while. “The Fabrays are very, very old money.”

Brittany can’t avoid the question that slips out, “And you?”

Santana shrugs. “I’m just the friend who sticks around.” She reaches for Brittany’s hand once more before saying, “let me show you the place.”

The study is like another century, contrasting with the modern living room. Bookshelves cover the walls — from old, hard cover and special editions to worn paperbacks and bright covers — and everything is dark wood. There’s an armchair in a corner and the writing desk is so special and elegant and Paris in the 1920s that Brittany has to run her fingertips over it.

“Quinn’s grandfather was classy,” Santana says over Brittany’s shoulder, a hand resting on the curve of Brittany’s hip. “I think he secretly wanted to be a writer.” Santana’s breath on the back of Brittany’s neck makes her tingle.

Brittany imagines generations of Fabrays inhabiting that space: Quinn’s grandfather — was he also blond? — at the writing desk, penning letters; Quinn’s father drinking wine and staring out the window; Quinn nestled on the armchair, reading a book.

They leave the study and enter Santana’s room, another universe in itself. It’s all Santana in black, white, and red. It smells like Santana, too. Brittany inhales a few times, taking it in.

“A family of four can sleep on your bed,” she says, sitting on the bed.

Santana follows, her back to the headboard. “We don’t pay any bills, so there’s enough money to buy something nice every once in a while.”

Brittany looks around one more time. A few seconds go by. “Thanks for inviting me here.”

“Come here,” Santana answers, patting the space beside her. She waits until Brittany is next to her, legs over Santana’s. She looks into Brittany’s eyes. “I want to tell you something.”

Brittany holds her breath.

“I want you to know me.” She touches Brittany’s hand. “And I want to know you.” Her thumb is soft against the back of Brittany’s hand, caressing back and forth. “If this guessing game about what I do stops being fun, just say it. I’m not doing it to keep you in the dark.”

Brittany breathes again.

“Thank you.”

A small grin sneaks onto the left corner of Santana’s mouth. “I just like the idea that I’m more than my job.”

Brittany kisses Santana, wet and slow, until Santana parts her lips and their tongues meet. Santana runs a hand up Brittany’s thigh and thankfully it’s summer and Brittany is wearing shorts, because there is more than enough skin for Santana to touch.

Santana sighs and hums, and it’s wonderful.

XL

Brittany gasps; Santana keeps grabbing her ass and pulling her down and generating all kinds of delicious friction. She should have known straddling Santana on a king size bed could lead to nothing but teasing.

She arches her back when Santana’s hands sneak under her shirt and touch her skin, palming her muscles, up and down. Her breath mingles with Santana’s as they join their lips one more time, open mouthed and demanding.

Santana coaxes Brittany’s tongue into her mouth; she massages it with her own; she sucks on Brittany’s tongue. Brittany moans and Santana bites her neck at the same time as she sinks her nails into Brittany’s upper back.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she breathes out in Brittany’s ear, her voice raspy. Brittany bites her lip. “Let’s take care of that.” She starts lifting Brittany’s shirt.

Brittany stops her, covering Santana’s hands with her own. “Wait, I—” She takes a few breaths; her head is spinning. Santana frowns. “Don’t worry, I just—” she lowers her mouth to Santana’s ear, “have an idea.”

Santana’s smile to that is downright malicious. “Do tell.”

“I have a new investigation technique,” Brittany says, her mouth hovering over Santana’s. “A girl’s got to use what she’s got.” She kisses Santana, pressing their bodies together, biting Santana’s lower lip. “So, I want a secret for every piece of clothing I take off.”

Santana examines Brittany for a moment, raising her eyebrows in defiance. “That’s blackmail.”

Brittany smiles. “We never laid out the rules, did we?” She can feel Santana’s muscles tensing every time she touches her; she can see her breasts rising and falling from her erratic breaths; she can see how dilated her pupils are.

“You’re good.” Santana flips them both so she’s on top, hips against Brittany’s.

Brittany wraps her legs around Santana. “You’ve seen nothing.”

XLI

Santana looks down into Brittany’s eyes very seriously. “Don’t laugh.” Brittany nods. Santana continues, “I cried for three days when my beagle died back home. I was 22.”

Brittany bites her lip to keep from laughing, but the corners of her mouth lift anyway. She runs her feet down the back of Santana’s legs. “That’s the first secret that comes to your mind?”

“No judging,” Santana warns, raising her eyebrows.

“Fair enough.” Brittany shifts positions, blond hair cascading as she settles comfortably on top of Santana. “I like this better.” She takes off her headband and throws it on the ground. “There you go.”

Santana just stares at her. “Is the headband even considered a piece of clothing?”

Brittany lowers her lips to Santana’s ear and slowly says, “Are you arguing with me, Santana?”

Santana swallows dryly and shakes her head. “Not at all.” Brittany smiles at the compliance and runs a hand over her hair so that it falls completely to the left. She brushes her lips over Santana’s collarbone, waiting. It doesn’t take more than a moment for Santana to sigh and close her eyes. “I still have all of Ann Rice’s books.”

Brittany lifts her shoulders a bit, supporting her weight on her hands. “I never took you for the supernatural kind of girl.”

“Everyone was once a thirteen year-old who craved something special.” Santana takes no time to palm Brittany’s back under her shirt, nudging the fabric up. Brittany lets her, waiting until it reaches her shoulders to take it off herself and throw it aside. Brittany feels more alert than usual; she can hear everything and feel everything. A light breeze sneaks in through a crack on the window; Santana’s long, drawn out breaths; the bed frame’s low cracks and whines.

Santana never stops looking into Brittany eyes as her hands run over Brittany’s back. Brittany wets her lips and flexes her back in response, unaware of their game for a moment.

Santana takes advantage of it to change positions so she is straddling Brittany once more and immediately attaches her lips to Brittany’s cleavage. She draws a path of wet kisses on Brittany’s breasts, playing with the limits of her bra. Brittany grabs a fistful of Santana’s hair and bites her own lip. “In spite of what I might say, during high school I wanted to be a singer.”

Brittany falls back, her back meeting the bed, Santana sitting between her legs. “Take it off,” she says, lifting her hips just enough.

Santana looks at her like she can’t believe it; the surprise goes away and she obeys, undoing the buttons and sliding the shorts off Brittany’s legs. She runs her hands from Brittany’s calves to the back of her inner thighs. Brittany closes her eyes, unable to hold the anticipation in. She can feel herself warm from head to toe and her blood flooding south.

When she opens her eyes, Santana is shirtless and her beautiful, black lace bra is on full display. “Come here,” she says to Santana.

When their bodies meet with no intermediaries, it’s warm and glorious and so intimate – she notices the shaky breath Santana takes. They kiss; she lets Santana take control and part her legs and enter her mouth. Santana’s tongue licks Brittany’s inner lower lip, meets Brittany’s tongue and massages it with her own. Santana’s body moves like a wave, in constant flux, back and forth, and Brittany can’t breathe.

“I was really nervous about you meeting Quinn,” Santana says when they break apart, and Brittany’s front clasp opens in her hands. Brittany can’t wait and mirrors the gesture, palming Santana’s breasts. “She has never liked anyone before.”

It catches Brittany’s breath. She cups Santana’s face with both hands, looking at her. Her heart beats out of control. She wonders if Santana can hear it. She kisses Santana, and it’s not slow anymore – it’s needy, full of bite, and she pulls Santana more tightly against her.


	6. Chapter 6

XLII

Brittany stirs and frowns and wakes up for a moment, rubbing her eyes. The sunlight is gentle; she guesses it’s early in the morning. The crimson bed sheets envelop her and a very naked Santana lies by her side, sprawled on her stomach, taking up as much space as she can.

She grins and kisses Santana’s back just because. “Go to sleep,” Santana groans, turning around. She places a leg over Brittany’s as she hides her face in Brittany’s neck.

Brittany kisses the top of Santana’s head and drifts off to sleep.

XLIII

Brittany wakes up for the second time and she guesses it’s late. Santana’s sitting up in bed, legs stretched out, reading something on her iPad. Brittany yawns and Santana smiles. She’s wearing a grey t-shirt, faded and comfortable, and nothing else – Brittany stretches and touches Santana’s exposed thigh, silently asking for her attention.

“Hey,” Santana says, running her free hand through Brittany’s hair. It’s absolutely delightful and Brittany closes her eyes in appreciation.

“Hey,” Brittany answers, moving closer until her head is on Santana’s lap. “Don’t stop.”

Santana scratches the back of Brittany’s head, eyes glued to the screen. “You do like to say that in bed, don’t you?”

Brittany can feel her ears warming up. She hides her face against Santana’s body and mumbles, “You didn’t complain last night.”

Santana’s laugh is so light and sincere Brittany can’t help but smile against Santana’s skin. “I’m not complaining, just stating a fact.”

Brittany doesn’t answer and they remain in silence for a while. Santana massages Brittany’s scalp and reads. Brittany is happy just to feel Santana against her while lying in bed.

She is almost asleep when Santana clears her throat, “I’m almost finished. We can go eat breakfast in a second, okay?”

“What are you reading?”

“The news,” Santana says, her fingers outlining Brittany’s jaw. She pauses, her fingers stopping their motion as well. Brittany lets her think, examining Santana’s features in the sunlight. “I read it every day,” she finally offers, carefully.

Brittany sits up, covering herself with the sheets. She can’t avoid the question that follows. “Because you like to?”

Santana examines Brittany with a smirk. Brittany tries to look innocent. “Sort of,” she answers.

Brittany’s smile is bright. Santana puts her iPad away and lifts her arm; Brittany takes the hint and scoots closer. “I’m such an awesome detective.”

“You are,” Santana agrees.

XLIV

The thing about hanging out with Musical Theater majors is that when Brittany finally arrives home, Rachel and her friends are there and they start an impromptu performance of “Accidentally In Love,” led by Blaine. Brittany blushes and downs a glass of wine in the kitchen before returning to the living room.

“A toast,” Kurt says, and they all raise their glasses. “To success, friendship, and unexpected love.”

Brittany toasts with them – it’s good to go back to a house full of people she can call friends. Their house is full more often than not; someone’s always bringing them a gift or suggesting something to do; it feels like family.

Blaine sings “It’s Not Unusual,” but the downstairs neighbor banging a broomstick on the ceiling interrupts their fun and they go back to their movie.

XLV

She misses running into Santana in the subway – the changes in her schedule made those chance encounters fewer and fewer, until she feels she will never run into Santana again.

No one else is as interesting and the crowds pass by without catching her attention.

During the rare times she sees Santana, though, her cheeks redden as their eyes lock. It’s like seeing her for the first time all over again.

Santana is always the one to come closer and she always has a hint of a smile; her fingers touch Brittany’s pulse before she slides her hand into Brittany’s. She never looks away from Brittany’s eyes, and she makes Brittany forget how many stops she has left and where she’s headed.

She makes conversation like they haven’t gone on dates and met each other’s friends, like they haven’t slept together or eaten breakfast in bed last Saturday morning. It’s like courting all over again – Brittany loves to play this game.

Brittany’s day is always better when she shares at least bits of it with Santana. She goes to work and everything flows easier, smoother.

Sometimes, if she’s lucky, Santana will text her to say something random, and she will bite her lip and answer right away; or, in a moment of bravery, she will text Santana something funny just to catch her attention.

Sometimes Santana tells her about a play, a concert, a restaurant, a new place she found; then Brittany gets to show interest and Santana asks her out. She’ll show up at Brittany’s doorstep, bringing Rachel some wine, and maybe – if Brittany’s wearing heels or a shorter dress or sometimes nothing out of ordinary – Santana will stop to look at Brittany like she’s the only person in the room and she’ll kiss Brittany softly, slowly, before they leave.

XLVI

The unexpected happens when Brittany is having lunch with Mike at a restaurant close to work – a place with good sandwiches and a decoration that seems to have never left the 70s or its obsession with the Red Sox behind. There’s a TV in the corner; it’s easy to spot the restaurant’s manager and one of the waiters there, watching a football game.

The manager changes channels and Santana’s face appears on the screen, surrounded by microphones. Brittany swallows around a cough and puts down her fork. “Holy cow, Mike, is that—”

Mike turns and looks as well, but Brittany doesn’t wait for his answer. “Where is that? Are those reporters?”

_“—…there is no need for—”_  Santana’s lips are moving, but the TV is too far and Brittany can’t hear what she’s saying, serious and determined, to the reporters.  _“—…coverage on this is damaging—”_

“I need to listen to this,” she tells Mike before standing up and taking a few steps towards the TV, entranced by the image.

Apparently, Santana’s in front of some government building.  _“—…Civil society has a role—”_

The manager pushes a button and an old episode of Seinfeld takes over the screen.

Brittany argues with him, but by the time he changes the channel back, the show has moved on and Santana has been replaced with images of some cooking show host Brittany doesn’t care about.

She sighs and goes back to her table to a very confused Mike Chang.

XLVII

Mike takes a bite of his sandwich. “Why don’t you just, you know, Google her to find out what she does?” he says, like it’s obvious.

Brittany shrugs. “It’s not about that.” She pauses and runs a hand through her hair. “Google won’t tell me she likes coffee with a hint of milk in the morning, and it won’t show me what it’s like to hang out with her best friend, or what the view is like from her apartment at night.”

Mike sips his beer. “Go on.”

“She said once,” Brittany continues, even if it feels strange to explain their dynamics to someone else, “that she likes to think she’s more than her job. It makes sense to me.”

“She’s one of a kind, isn’t she?” Mike’s look makes Brittany feel self-conscious, but not in a bad way. He takes another bite of his sandwich and says, mouth still half full, “Rachel keeps telling us about your little drunken night and how Santana picks the best wines, yet Tina and I still haven’t met her.”

The waiter takes Brittany’s empty plate. She turns to her friend, trying not to smile. “Are you jealous, Mike Chang?”

“Just because I don’t live with you anymore doesn’t mean I lose my special treatment.” He shrugs it off, and winks at her, finishing his beer. “Can she even dance?”

Brittany stops to think. “That’s actually a very good question.”

XLVIII

The students turn around, following Mike’s instructions; they make for an eclectic bunch of every style imaginable – from gothic to preppy to hipster to laid-back. Mike’s been teaching them for free as part of a city project that gives low-income youth opportunities to learn self-awareness through foreign languages, acting, and music.

It’s beautiful to see how far they’ve come.

Santana misses her step and sighs in clear annoyance. “Again, how did you talk me into this?”

“Mike asked me if you could dance.” Brittany shrugs, standing in position with Santana.

They start over and Santana messes up again. She huffs. “And how does that translate into salsa? Who dances salsa, anyway?”

Brittany places a finger on Santana’s lips. “Stop whining just because you’re not getting every single step right.” She kisses Santana’s lower lip, then her upper lip; she takes Santana’s lip between her own and sucks on it gently. Santana’s hands find blond hair and grab as she whimpers, pressing her body against Brittany’s.

Brittany breaks them apart and looks at Santana expectantly.

“Sorry,” Santana says. They both ignore the students giggling at them.

Brittany kisses the corner of Santana’s mouth. “I’m being a perfect gentleman. But you have to let go and follow my lead.”

Santana scratches the back of Brittany’s neck. “I’m not good at letting go,” she says.

Brittany bites her lip to restrain herself from kissing Santana again. “That’s why you’re getting it wrong.” She looks into Santana’s eyes. “You just have to trust me.”

“I know,” Santana answers, serious.

They start again.

XLIX

“You’re doing great,” Brittany says quietly.

“I  _am_  great,” Santana answers, winking at Brittany. They finish their routine without a single mistake; Mike notices and gives them a thumbs up.

They get in position once more. “Let’s try it one more time,” Brittany says, taking Santana through the motions. She breathes in, gathers her courage, and continues, “I saw you on TV yesterday.”

Santana raises her eyebrows, but she doesn’t look surprised in the least. “Did you?”

Brittany nods, staring at Santana in search of any hint or trace of subtle emotion on her features. “I was having lunch with Mike and there you were on the screen. You were talking to reporters in front of City Hall.”

They stop. Mike isn’t looking at them; he’s too focused on a pair of students. Santana steps aside to take a bottle of water from her purse; she drinks it, unrushed, before answering, “And what was I saying?”

There are butterflies in Brittany’s stomach all over again – she’s being tested and she knows it. Her shoulder touches the wall and she leans into Santana. “I couldn’t tell, actually. When I got close enough to hear you, someone changed the channel and it was too late.”

Santana looks too damn satisfied. “Too bad.”

L

They get seated at the bar. It smells like French fries made love to bacon and cheese, and Brittany feels hungry immediately. She licks her lips, wondering if she should order something like that.

Santana interrupts her thoughts, “It wasn’t that bad.”

Brittany smiles from ear to ear. Santana had enjoyed their salsa lesson after all the whining and complaining? She just has to bask in it. “Excuse me? I didn’t hear you.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “I said I had a good time.”

“Good girl,” Brittany answers, leaning forward. Santana mirrors the movement and they meet halfway – Brittany likes this balance, this give and take. Santana takes control of their kiss and Brittany doesn’t mind; she tilts her head to allow Santana better access to her mouth.

“No tongue action in front of the children, ladies.” Mike arrives, placing three beers on the counter. He takes a seat and smiles when they break apart to look at him. He turns to Santana and says, “It’s my friend you’re kissing, you know.”

“I have nothing but good intentions,” Santana says, licking her lips and leaning back in her seat. She takes the beer Mike offers.

“This round is on me,” he says.

Santana smiles and nods her head to thank him. “I like you already,” she tells Mike before raising her glass and toasting to Brittany with him.

LI

The stairs creak and moan with Brittany’s footsteps. A duffel bag over her shoulder, she rushes to the building’s front entrance, eager to see Santana. It is dark and fresh outside; the car is already waiting for her when she gets to the sidewalk.

“Hi, Tony,” she says, greeting the driver and throwing her bag in the backseat. It’s only then that she looks at Santana – and stops, stunned. “Oh.”

There are no words in Brittany’s vocabulary to describe Santana. Her lipstick is red, moist and inviting. Her makeup is dark, making her eyes even more piercing and penetrating. Her neck and shoulders are exposed, and her hair is up. Her dress is black and long, and nothing short of royalty – the kind of dress Brittany sees in movies and magazines and dreams.

Santana just smirks at her, saying nothing, as the car weaves through the streets.

“I told you I had a work thing,” she says, like it’s as simple as that. Her perfume envelops Brittany – it’s different this time, oriental and amber; maybe the occasion called for it.

Brittany touches the dress and feels the fabric. “You are definitely Batwoman.”

Santana smiles; it’s like watching a predator. “I wish.”

Brittany thinks about putting her legs on Santana’s lap, as usual, but she settles for not ruining the dress. She places her hands on her own thighs as a distraction. “You’re an actress, then.”

“No.” Santana shakes her head. It’s impossible not to look at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. “It was a gala.”

“A gala,” Brittany repeats.

Santana rolls her eyes. “Yes, a gala.” She places a hand over Brittany’s bag between them, and Brittany takes the hint and intertwines their fingers. “Much better.”

LII

There’s something about seeing Santana in that dress. Santana enters her apartment, her heels echoing down the hall, and for a moment Brittany just watches her move: she raises a hand to her hair and lets it down, feeling it fall past her shoulders and gently settle down her back; she takes her earrings and her necklace off and drops them on top of the dinner table; she walks to her room, hips swaying; unbuttons her dress as she reaches for the bedroom door.

“Are you coming?” she says, looking over her shoulder at Brittany.

Brittany blinks and follows. She touches where tanned skin meets black fabric and pulls on the zipper. Santana pushes the dress down and it pools at her feet. Brittany’s fingertips touch Santana’s back.

“Are you coming?” Santana repeats, and Brittany follows once more, closing the door behind her.


	7. Chapter 7

LIII

Brittany and Mike look at each other. "Floor!" Mike shouts, and they both drop to the floor and start their push-ups.

For a few minutes they count in silence and only their breathing can be heard. Brittany feels energized — like she can run a marathon, then go straight into a triathlon, and finish by climbing a mountain. There's too much adrenaline in her body lately and she knows it's all because of Santana.

Mike collapses and gives up somewhere around push-up number 80, but Brittany keeps up her pace, shooting him a grin. He groans and turns on his back. "Ok, you passed a hundred. No need to shove it in my face."

She stops and gets up. "You owe me a beer," she tells him as she begins to stretch her legs. "Let's go for a run. It's a beautiful day outside."

Rachel leaves her room, iPod in hand and running clothes on. "Did someone say go for a run?"

Brittany smiles brightly and claps, and Mike gets up to start stretching.

They race down the stairs. Brittany wins.

LIV

Brittany enters the subway train right before midnight. She's had a long day and a long workout and she can't wait to get to her bed.

Santana's sitting at the far back, her face between her hands.

Brittany smiles. She goes to her and sits by her side. "Good evening," she says politely.

Santana looks at Brittany and the corners of her mouth lift. "Hey you," she says weakly. Her hand touches Brittany's knee and she runs her thumb over it.

She looks more tired than ever — her hair is up in a messy bun, the bags under her eyes are blatant and her entire body language is slumped, slow, contrived under the unflattering fluorescent light.

"Have you just left work?" Brittany asks, placing her hand over Santana's.

Santana nods.

Brittany presses. "At midnight?"

Santana nods again. The train stops — no one enters and no one leaves.

Brittany frowns. "Is this the first time you've done it this week?"

Santana shakes her head. "Not exactly."

They fall silent for a moment. The only guy in the train grabs his backpack and leaves at the next stop. Brittany watches him for a second before turning back to Santana and touching her jaw. "Is that why we haven't seen each other in five days?"

Santana leans into the touch. "It's been a rough week." She looks at the display. "I have to go."

"This isn't your usual stop."

"I know." She kisses Brittany quickly. "I'll call you."

She leaves.

LV

"Five, six, seven, eight!" The choreographer commands and the dancers follow. He's on the left side, looking over a few rows of dancers, and Brittany is on the other side of the room, observing the more experienced ones.

Brittany looks at Mike and points at his position. "Mike, you and Fernanda are supposed to wait until Georges reaches the middle of the stage before you come in, okay? Let's try this again."

The choreographer nods towards Brittany. "Five, six, seven, eight!" he says one more time, and everyone starts from scratch.

Brittany watches carefully, searching for mistakes and imperfections. The dancers have just started learning the steps — it's fascinating to watch them absorb the instructions and eventually master every move.

LVI

Brittany's phone rings — it's Santana's special ring tone, so Brittany rushes to take it.

"Hey," she says.

There's some background noise. She hears Santana sigh. "Hey. I have bad news." Brittany leans against her bedroom door, but says nothing. "It's taking longer than I thought. I don't think I'll be able to make it."

It's like a bucket of cold water being dumped on Brittany's head. "We don't need to catch a movie. We can do something later, or watch something here at my place," she tries to negotiate.

Santana sighs again. "I don't want to keep you waiting. I might take hours, and what's the use of showing up exhausted? It's unfair to you." She pauses. Brittany doesn't feel like saying anything, so she doesn't. "I'm sorry."

"Okay." Brittany answers, and turns off her phone.

LVI

She only gets to see Santana four days later, when they arrange a movie night — Quinn is out of town and Santana is just too tired to do anything outside, she says. "I'll make it up to you, okay?" She tells Brittany over the phone. Brittany feels like telling her she's got it all wrong — she doesn't want fancy dinners or art exhibitions or anything. She just wants to see Santana, and talk to her, and ask her about her day.

She arrives with popcorn and sodas. Santana opens the door and she's wearing no makeup and her purple dress looks comfortable; it's the most casual Brittany has ever seen her — and the most tired, if that's even possible.

Were they at a point where Brittany could scold her for not taking care of her health?

Santana greets her with a kiss. "The movie is already set up. Have a seat and I'll make popcorn."

Brittany does sit for a moment, but she decides she'd rather be standing in the kitchen and talking to Santana than being comfortable in silence in the empty living room.

When she walks into the kitchen, Santana is handling the popcorn and sipping an energy drink.

"Santana, are you—" She begins to ask. Santana's hand freezes in place and she tightens her grip, like she wasn't planning on drinking it in front of Brittany. "Is that an energy drink?"

"It is."

Brittany gets closer. "Santana, that's really bad for your health."

Santana lifts one eyebrow, serious. "I am an adult; you don't get to boss me around with what I should or shouldn't do," she says, sounding colder than Brittany has ever heard her.

"This is not bossing around!" Brittany looks at Santana and touches her arm, pulling her closer. Santana hesitates, but their bodies finally meet. "It's called worrying," Brittany says, touching Santana's jaw.

Santana sighs. "It's just work. It's been tough. I have to be alert and on top of things. Then I have to have meetings." She looks right into Brittany's eyes. "I barely have time for anything, like sleeping — if I don't drink this, I'll just fall asleep in the middle of the movie, and you know what? I fell asleep during one of our dates before and I'm not planning on doing that again."

Sometimes Santana is so sweet and irrevocably stubborn that Brittany doesn't know what to do with her.

"I don't want to be an obligation. If you have to drink this, I don't want it." She takes the can from Santana's hand and throws the content in the sink. "I'll sleep with you. Let's go to bed. We can watch our movie some other day."

Santana pulls on Brittany's hand. The popcorn rattling inside the pan is the only sound in the kitchen for a moment or two. "I don't want to ruin our night."

"You're not ruining anything," Brittany answers, turning off the stovetop and leading Santana to the bedroom.

Brittany is the big spoon. Santana falls asleep the second her body hits the mattress.

LX                                      

Brittany pulls Santana back by her waist. It's been too long – she hasn't seen Santana in days, she hasn't touched Santana in two weeks now – and she can't wait. She can't wait to reach the bedroom, so she pulls Santana back by the waist when they're still at the door.

The apartment is dark; the moonlight makes shapes and forms. Santana doesn't resist. Her body meets Brittany's and she lets Brittany set her hair aside and kiss her neck.

Brittany can't help it — she's gone too long without it, and Santana's figure is so lean and the way she moves is so enticing; she inhales and Santana is oriental and amber again. Her arm sneaks its way in front of Santana, making sure there's not an inch between them.

"It's been too long," she says, before she kisses Santana's neck again. Santana tilts her head to the side and sighs when Brittany sucks. Her fingers dive into Brittany's hair and grab it. Brittany's wet kisses go on, slow and firm, and Santana's warm against her lips and against her body — Brittany can feel her in spite of the fabric, burning.

Santana sighs and her hips begin to move. It creates friction and rhythm. Brittany tightens her hold and continues, as if unaware of the grinding. She flickers her tongue against Santana's skin, teases it with her teeth, trying not to leave any patch of skin untouched.

"I like it when you miss me," Santana whispers, scratching the back of Brittany's neck. Brittany takes a slow bite in reprimand; Santana hisses. "Baby's got a bite."

Brittany sucks on the same spot, her free hand palming Santana's collarbone and exploring her cleavage. Santana hangs on to her, licking her own lips, taking deep breaths when Brittany sucks on an already sensitive spot.

"I missed you too." Santana's nails sink into Brittany's thigh. Brittany's hand is already finding its way under fabric, reaching Santana's breasts over her bra. Santana arches into her and says, "I thought about you all day."

Santana scratches her way up, taking Brittany's dress with her. She lets her weight fall back on Brittany, and Brittany realizes she's just been trapped.

"I had a very important meeting," she says and she turns so she's facing Brittany. "With some very important people." Her lips are so close to Brittany's, so close — "You see, I should have paid close attention to what they were saying." She holds Brittany's wrists above her head with one hand, pressing hard against Brittany.

"And did you?" Brittany asks, a little breathless.

"Of course I didn't." Santana ghosts her lips over Brittany's neck, her leg settling between Brittany's. "All I could think about was having you." Brittany's hips start moving on their own accord, riding Santana's leg. "The face you make when you're turned on." Santana adds more pressure with her leg and lets go of Brittany's wrists at the same time Brittany moves forward; Brittany whimpers and holds on to Santana's shoulders.

She bites her lip to keep from begging so soon.

"There was this man talking, this big time reporter, with his thick glasses and gray beard," Santana whispers in her ear, lifting Brittany's dress up, fingertips burning Brittany's skin. "I didn't hear a word he said. I kept imagining you, back turned to me, against a wall." Brittany's dress reaches her hips and Santana grabs her ass, adding momentum and pressure to Brittany's riding.

She wants to kiss Santana, but Santana won't let her. Santana wants to whisper in her ear, low and sultry. Brittany can feel her blood rushing, demanding less clothing and more friction.

"Have I mentioned I love the way you moan?" Her hands on Brittany's behind dictate the rhythm, growing faster, stronger. Brittany pulls her hair and pulls her in for a kiss, desperate; Santana takes over her mouth, full of bite. Brittany moans into the kiss, hanging on to Santana. "The way you say my name?"

Brittany kisses Santana again, tongues sliding together, one leg wrapping around Santana. "Santana— Please—"

Santana takes a second to take Brittany's dress off and throw it far. "I don't like being distracted like that," she says, nipping Brittany's jaw. Brittany's already pulling on Santana's shirt, formerly tucked in, undoing her buttons. Santana stops her. "Let's take this somewhere else." She takes Brittany to her room by the hand.

Brittany can't wait; as soon as Santana closes the door she reaches for her and pulls her close. Santana lets her open her shirt, button by button, revealing a black bra that matches her high-waist black skirt.

"Not bad," Brittany says.

Santana kisses Brittany — within a few seconds, they're against a wall again. "I'm not done." She turns Brittany around and presses her front to Brittany's back. Brittany places both hands on the wall for support, bracing herself. "I have to be on top of everything if I want to succeed." Her hands roam over Brittany's body, firm, exploring. "I need to be alert and focused." She palms Brittany's stomach; Brittany catches her breath, hoping Santana goes lower.

Brittany arches her back, legs opening.

Santana kisses her back, going lower; her hands going to Brittany's waist and then to her thighs. "And still, I couldn't get you off my mind." She kisses Brittany's lower back and takes off her underwear. "While I was preparing for the meeting..." Brittany steps out of it, forehead on the wall, eyes closed, breath shallow. Santana's breath ghosts her skin. "…During the meeting. Crossing and uncrossing my legs, desperate for release." She places wet kisses on the back of Brittany's thighs. "Did you know that the Mayor of New York invited us to a cocktail party at his house and I declined?"

Brittany doesn't know how she's still standing. Santana stops her upwards trail of kisses, making Brittany whine. In the corner of her eyes, she sees Santana's skirt being thrown aside and her underwear sliding to the floor.

Santana presses her against the wall again — this time is even better, more glorious, they're both naked, skin on skin — before biting her shoulder and taking her time cupping her breasts. "Just like that. Because I had to see you." She says into Brittany's ear before finally touching her, slowly running a finger through her. "Touch you."

Brittany can only think of more. "Do it— please, Santana— anything—"

"Oh, I will." Santana withdraws her hand and Brittany misses the contact immediately, pushing her hips against Santana, eyes closed and mouth half open.

She hears Santana licking her finger and humming and the sound of it goes straight to her groin. She's about to snap, complain, turn around and take over control— Santana slides three fingers in at once, from behind, without warning, stretching, filling her.

Brittany moans in satisfaction and opens her legs wider, gasping as Santana picks up pace and intensity. This is so much better, Santana going deeper and faster and she's hitting all the right spots because Brittany's entire body is responding and clenching and tensing as Santana groans behind her, one hand grasping Brittany's hip so hard it's going to bruise.

Santana curves her fingers and curses when Brittany tightens around her, too close already — she can't stand the teasing, not like this, not when it's been too long and Santana in black pumps is God's gift to her.

"I'm so close—" she tries to say, but the sentence falls short and she can't be coherent, not at the moment. Santana places a wet kiss on her neck and her free hand touches Brittany's clit in firm, short strokes, and she's still inside Brittany, in and out—

Brittany moans Santana's name as she orgasms in a strong, long wave that seems to go on and on, fed by Santana's slower but constant rhythm, until she can take no more; her knees go weak and Santana has to wrap an arm around her to keep her balance.

She turns to Santana and hides her face in Santana's neck, taking shallow breaths and closing her eyes. "That was— wow."

Santana holds her tight; Brittany can almost feel her smile. She kisses Brittany's cheek and takes them towards the bed. "I told you I had missed you," she says as they lie down.

Brittany immediately scoots closer, one arm over Santana, and Santana pulls the sheets over them. "You're so dirty," Brittany says, still tingling all over. She can't stop grinning.

Santana laughs and pulls her closer. "You like it."

Brittany hums in satisfaction. "Did you really think about me?"

Santana turns so she's on her side, facing Brittany. "I really did. You're very distracting," she says with a smile as she kisses Brittany. Brittany nips her lip and sucks on it; Santana sighs, running her hands down Brittany's back.

Brittany makes a path downwards with her hand, and when she touches Santana she's incredibly wet. Santana moans into the kiss, throwing her leg over Brittany's hip to allow better access.

"God, you're so wet," she tells Santana as her fingers work in circles over her sensitive spot.

Santana's breath is already shallow, her mouth opening. "All day." Brittany enters her — she's so hot, so tight — and Santana moans low and long. "For you."

Brittany stills her hand. "Say it again."

Santana's hips move, trying, but Brittany doesn't let her have her way. "Just for you," Santana finally says, and Brittany groans as she begins to thrust — and Santana's breathing in her ear, whimpering low, hanging on to her — inside out, slow and deep. "All yours," Santana pants, biting Brittany's lower lip.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your reviews on ff.net; your private messages; your asks on Tumblr. Wow. You keep me excited about this story. You made me turn a one-shot a multichapter and I'm now considering making it even longer and more complex, and creating a Masterpost for it to release interesting information, Santana's wardrobe and much more. Thank you.
> 
> Talk to me on Tumblr anytime - I love it.

LIX

For Rachel’s birthday she wants to go to Call Backs, a karaoke bar from her college days. “Santana is obviously invited,” Rachel tells Brittany when they’re painting their nails, sitting on the living room floor. “If she asks you what you think she should get me, just tell her she knows my taste in wine very well by now.”

Brittany rolls her eyes, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. Rachel had just treated them like an established couple.

LX

It rings a few times before Santana takes the call. “Hey you,” she says.

“Hi,” Brittany says, closing the bedroom door behind her. “Are you busy right now? Can I ask you something?”

“No, no, just working on some things at home. What did you want to talk about?”

Brittany throws herself on the bed, not bothering to turn on the lights. “I know you’re having a tough schedule and all, but Rachel’s asked me to invite you to her birthday. It’s at this karaoke bar called Call Backs this Saturday.” She pauses. “Oh, and she said you know her taste in wine, in case you were wondering what you should give her.”

Santana’s laugh is like clear water. “Very well. I have this dinner thing to go to, so I’ll meet you guys at the bar. You can text me the address. Okay?”

Brittany smiles. “See you Saturday.”

LXI

The choreographer has a family emergency. “I trust you,” he tells Brittany. “You can take over for a day or two.”

Brittany nods, trying not to look as nervous as she feels.

It’s her first rehearsal on her own. She takes a few deep breaths before stepping in front of every dancer as they stretch. She explains the situation – it’s impressive how quickly they agree to it, how no one bats an eyelash to her taking over – and two dozen heads look at her, expecting instructions.

Her heart beats fast – maybe she can do this.

LXII

Brittany makes her way through the small crowd, searching for Santana. It’s starting to get noisy and the easy chill of the beginning of a night is long gone. She looks at the bar and glances at her phone, checking the time.

She spots Santana a minute later. Much to her displeasure, there’s a man talking to Santana. He’s tall, muscular, leaning towards her, open leather jacket brushing her arm, a beer in his hand. His mouth shouldn’t be so close to Santana’s ear. Santana’s not even looking in his direction; she’s taking her – their – drinks from the waiter.

He puts a hand on Santana’s shoulder. Brittany cuts in. “How about you take your paws off _my girlfriend_?” She says, taking his hand off and standing between him and Santana. The man looks amused – it irritates Brittany even more. She looks straight into his eyes.

Santana wraps an arm around Brittany’s waist from behind, resting her chin on Brittany’s shoulder. “You should go, Puck.”

“Take that beer for a walk. Away from here, in that direction,” Brittany says, pointing at the door and staring at him until he raises his hands in the air.

“Got the message,” he answers, looking at Santana and gesturing for her to call him.

Brittany makes sure he has gone and can’t be seen before turning to Santana. “Men,” she huffs, gripping Santana’s hip to pull her closer, bodies against each other. “So full of it—“

“Our drinks: a mojito for you and a blueberry martini for me,” Santana interrupts, giving Brittany her glass. She lets Brittany press her against the counter, shielding her from everyone else. She’s smirking.

They clink their glasses and Brittany takes a sip. It tastes good, and the adrenaline levels on her body begin to drop. She takes a deep breath.

“Brittany,” Santana calls her attention. Her free hand is scratching the back of Brittany’s neck, up and down. Brittany closes her eyes for a second. “Don’t get me wrong, but – what did you call me?”

Brittany opens her eyes and frowns. “What do you mean?”

Santana is almost grinning – just almost. She sips her martini. “What did you tell Puck?”

“I told him to get his paws off—” Brittany cuts the sentence short, mouth half open, when she realizes what she had actually called Santana. Santana raises her eyebrows. Brittany takes a deep breath. She feels her face getting warm already. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, it doesn’t have to mean anything. You know? I just. He had his hand on you and that’s not cool. I didn’t like it. So I had to say something. I wasn’t really thinking. You know?”

Santana continues to scratch the back of Brittany’s neck. It’s distracting.

Her face feels like it’s burning.

“It’s okay,” Santana finally interrupts the monologue, kissing Brittany’s lower lip. “Just checking.”

LXIII

“Just checking? What does that even mean?” Rachel asks, waving her hands in the air.

Kurt puts his hand on his chin. “It’s okay? So are you girlfriends, or did she not care that you let the word slip? Who is this Puck person?”

“How should I know?” Brittany hides her face in her hands. “She said this Puck is a friend. I don’t like him.”

“Let’s all take a deep breath together,” says Rachel, holding Brittany. Brittany inhales and exhales slowly. “I don’t think we should make assumptions right now. I’ve had too much tequila for that.”

Someone knocks on the bathroom door. Rachel shouts, “We’re having a crisis here, okay? You’re going to have to wait!”

Kurt ignores Rachel and the knocking, setting his glass aside and turning to Brittany. “First of all, do you _want_ to be her girlfriend?”

Brittany bites her lower lip. “I do.”

Kurt squints his eyes, examining Brittany. “Was that the first time you called her that?”

Brittany nods.

Kurt takes a sharp breath. “Here’s what you’re going to do: nothing. You’re going to forget all about this and enjoy the night. Later, when it’s just the two of you and everyone is both sober _and_ fully dressed, you’ll bring it up if you want.”

Brittany makes a sad face.

The person pounds on the door again.

Kurt looks at the door and sighs. “Let’s just celebrate the fact she didn’t freak out on you. Now let’s leave this place before the smell of urine clings to my hair permanently. I think I can hear someone butchering Lady Gaga.”

LXIV

Santana is adamant about taking Brittany home before heading to her own place. “I don’t care if it would be more practical to drop me off first. It’s four in the morning and I want to be sure you get home safe,” she says, and Brittany decides not to argue.

It feels good to have someone worrying about her.

Brittany places her hand on Santana’s thigh and kisses her wet and slow. “You know what would be even more practical? If I went home with you.” Her hand slides higher as Santana opens her legs.

“I told you – I have so much to do, I really shouldn’t,” Santana answers. Brittany kisses Santana’s neck, smiling against skin when Santana holds her breath. “Don’t do that, you know I wish I could—”

Brittany runs the tip of her tongue on Santana’s neck. “You can. Tomorrow’s Sunday,” she whispers in Santana’s ear. Her hand goes higher, pushing aside Santana’s shorts that are in her way.

She turns to Santana and smiles. “You know you’re giving in.”

Santana smiles right back and tells the taxi driver her address. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

LXV

Brittany wakes up with Santana kissing her shoulder. “Rise and shine” she says quietly.

“Five more minutes,” Brittany answers, turning around and closing her eyes. Santana massaging her head with the tips of her fingers lulls her right back to sleep.

LXVI

The voice of Ella Fitzgerald reaches Brittany’s ears when she wakes up. Santana’s not there; the bed sheets feel cold. How long ago had she left the bed? The curtains let some sunlight in; Brittany wonders what time it is. She rubs her eyes and sits up, locating her dress and underwear neatly arranged on the back of a chair.

_Time for breakfast_ , says a note on top of it. Santana’s handwriting is firm and straight. Brittany dresses herself, humming to Ella Fitzgerald until she hears Quinn’s soft, melodic voice singing the beginning of Baby It’s Cold Outside. It’s lovely.

Santana’s voice joins her in what should be the male counterpart of the duet. Brittany remembers that Santana used to be a singer and she wonders why she gave it up. She bites her lip and stands by the bedroom door, watching.

Quinn’s setting the table, wearing a white summer dress, and Santana arrives from the kitchen carrying a tray with a chocolate cake on it. There’s juice, and bread, and fruits, and all kinds of things. They exchange looks as the sing, and they’re smiling at each other. Brittany wonders if every weekend is like this for them, with music and cooking and relaxing.

“Look who’s up,” says Santana as she sets the tray on the table.

Brittany gives Quinn a hug before turning to Santana and giving her a quick peck. “You both should record a CD together.”

“Oh, but smart girls like us must have a real profession, Brittany,” Quinn says, gesturing for them to sit. “We should not waste our potential.”

Brittany disagrees and almost starts discussing potential and careers, but she senses the irony. She feels how mechanic and well-rehearsed Quinn sounds – like it’s someone else’s words. She wants to ask about their past, and who told them that and why they had listened, but maybe it’s too much, too soon.

Santana doesn’t add anything to Quinn’s remarks. She takes some bread and some jelly and says, “Oh, the only thing you cannot complain about is the cake, okay? I made it.” She winks at Brittany. “You should probably just lie and tell me how great it tastes.”

Brittany puts a slice on her plate and, right before her first bite, she looks at Santana. “This tastes amazing. It’s the best cake I've ever had. Ever.”

Santana and Quinn laugh. “Maybe you should try eating it first,” Santana says, running a hand along Brittany’s arm. It stops on Brittany’s free hand, and she intertwines their fingers.

The cake is soft and it’s dark chocolate and sex. Brittany closes her eyes. “It tastes fantastic. You’re the best.”

“Thank you,” Santana answers politely, squeezing Brittany’s hand before letting go and focusing on her food.

Quinn pours herself some coffee and clears her throat. “So, I heard you took Santana salsa dancing.”

LXVII

“Then Santana said, “I have razor blades in my hair.” And she gestures, like this,” Quinn says, hand hovering her own hair in demonstration, “and continues this absurdity, saying 'all over it.' She had this crazy look in her eyes. This I'mma-cut-you-in-your-sleep look. I wouldn’t have doubted her.”

Brittany can’t stop laughing.

Santana just shrugs, holding back a smile. “It’s Snix. She’s my alter ego. I can’t be held responsible.”

Brittany throws her head back, tears pooling in her eyes.

Quinn smiles and sips from her coffee, letting Brittany catch her breath.

Brittany thinks she wants to feel like this always.

LXVIII

Quinn frowns as she stares at her computer screen. She’s sitting on the couch, legs stretched out. The stereo plays some soft jazz, something from her father’s collection. Brittany washes the dishes with Santana, enjoying the slow passing of time.

Santana washes, Brittany dries.

Her heart races. She has to say it. “I wanted to tell you something.”

Santana gives Brittany a plate. “Tell me.”

“I meant it. What I said yesterday.” She puts the plate inside the cupboard. “I don’t want to be with anyone else. I don’t want you with anyone else. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

Santana looks at her and doesn’t say anything for a long time. Brittany sees how she inhales but never exhales, how her fingers stop moving and how her posture stiffens. Her hands are wet, dripping on the floor, as she holds a glass.

Brittany’s stomach is in knots.

Santana makes a little frown before finally speaking. “I’m not—I can’t—” She sighs and puts the glass aside, drying her hands. “I was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.” She pauses for an eternity. Brittany can hear her own breathing like it’s amplified. “I don’t make a good girlfriend, Brittany. I panic and push people away. I’m self-centered and stubborn. I work too much, I always put my career before everything else and I tend to think my problems are bigger and more important. Trust me: you don’t want someone like me as your girlfriend.”

Brittany stops looking at Santana and stares at the ground. Her heart feels heavy in her chest and she doesn’t know what to say.

“Please, Brittany, don’t look at me like that.” Santana scoots closer and places her hand on Brittany’s arm, pleading. “It’s just—things are good as they are, aren’t they? Let’s keep things light and fun.”

Brittany has no option but to agree.


	9. Chapter 9

LXIX

Santana reaches for Brittany's hand. Brittany stops at the door and turns – Santana has a small frown on her face; she opens and closes her mouth a few times, blinks, and sighs. She cups Brittany's jaw with her left hand and joins their lips.

Brittany lets the kiss go on for as long as Santana wishes.

Santana looks into her eyes and it's almost like she's saying something – Brittany hopes she's changed her mind, she hopes she wants them to have something, she hopes she _wants_ Brittany – but she isn't and silence is heavy.

"See you," Brittany says, kissing Santana's forehead, and she leaves the apartment.

LXX

Four long days go by.

LXXI

Mike looks at Brittany and they settle into position. "Thanks for helping me with this."

Brittany smiles at him. "Five, six, seven, eight," she counts, and Mike begins to lead her around the dance floor. He's been having trouble with the end of this sequence - he keeps placing his weight on the wrong foot when the steps become complicated, turning them into a mess that's impossible to untangle.

"Stop," Brittany commands. She kneels down and takes his left shoe off. "Pay attention to those last three steps. Let's do it in slow motion."

They repeat it three times. It's slow and awkward, because Mike keeps losing balance and awareness of his own body, but Brittany knows that being self-conscious is a good thing. He puts his shoe back on.

They get in position. "Five, six, seven, eight," Brittany counts yet again. It takes them a few more times, slow and careful, but Mike smiles and they're getting somewhere.

For a moment, she wishes Santana could have been there.

There is no one to watch.

LXXII

Brittany paces back and forth. The tall black man at the door looks at her expectantly. She calls Santana. "Hey, are you on your way? The play is about to start and you're—"

"I don't think I'll make it," Santana says. "Tell Rachel I'm really sorry. I'll try to meet up with you guys for drinks later."

Brittany sighs. She doesn't bother with a reply, throwing the phone in her purse instead.

Rachel's performance is amazing, as Brittany knew it would be. It's a supportive role, but it's an actual role with actual lines and it's Broadway – Rachel has built her whole life towards it.

Santana's empty seat bothers her through the entire performance.

LXXIII

Everyone's laughing when Santana walks into the bar. Brittany sees her immediately – hair up in a tight ponytail, complimenting her leather skirt and red blouse. Brittany wets her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

"Look who's here!" Rachel turns around and takes someone's beer. "Better late than never."

"I had to come and say hello," Santana nods in Brittany's direction before turning to Rachel once more. "Even though I missed the main event."

Rachel gestures for her to stop. She looks radiant as she smiles at Santana. "Don't be silly. I'm not holding a grudge. We're celebrating tonight."

Only then does Santana go to Brittany's table. She greets Mike and Kurt and is properly introduced to Blaine and Tina. She's charming and conversational, and it bothers Brittany that it's taking so long for her to be acknowledged.

When all eyes aren't on her anymore, Santana takes a seat next to Brittany. "Hey," Santana says, tentatively, and reaches for Brittany's hand.

"Hey." Brittany answers. She doesn't sound overly excited. She wonders if she has a right to be upset, considering Santana has a workload she can't help and she _does_ look apologetic.

Santana places a lock of Brittany's hair behind her ear. "Are you mad?"

"No, it's okay," Brittany answers, kissing Santana's lips softly. Tonight should be about Rachel.

Santana cups Brittany's face and lingers on the kiss. "I was so worried you'd be upset with me."

Brittany blushes at the sweetness in Santana's voice, feeling guilty. "Don't worry," she tells Santana, and kisses her one more time.

LXXIV

Santana pays the bill. "Take it as an official apology to Rachel," she tells everyone as she gives her credit card to the waiter.

LXXV

When Santana opens the door to her apartment and lets Brittany in, it's late and it's dark. As soon as Brittany reaches the living room she can hear Quinn's whimpers and groans in her room. She's saying something, but Brittany can't understand it properly.

Santana seems to be half expecting it. "She's having a nightmare," she says, serious and alert, as she drops her purse on the table and heads to Quinn's room.

Brittany follows. She doesn't understand.

Quinn is thrashing around on her bed, a pained look on her face. The sheets are white; her nightgown is black. Santana takes off her shoes and lies down by her side. Quinn groans and sobs – the strangled cries cut through Brittany's skin and she holds her breath, worried.

Santana gently runs her hand along Quinn's arm. "Please," Quinn says, still asleep.

"Wake up, Quinn" Santana says softly again and again, until Quinn opens her eyes with a gasp; she's shaking. She looks right at Brittany – it's deep and exposing.

Santana holds Quinn in her arms. "You're okay. You're alive. You're real. You're with me," Santana says to Quinn, pausing between every sentence.

Quinn clings to Santana's shirt, her face in Santana's neck, her entire body shaking.

Brittany stands by the door – she's intruding, she doesn't belong there, she shouldn't be watching. She should leave, leave them be while there is still time, while Quinn is not looking at her – Quinn is like Santana; a fortress not to be occupied, a breakdown not to be witnessed.

Santana gestures for Brittany to come closer. "Brittany is here, too. You're with us." She says to Quinn. Brittany hesitates, but Santana repeats the gesture. Brittany takes a few tentative steps and lies down on the bed as well, unsure. Santana takes her hand and places it on Quinn's waist. Quinn feels warm. "Can you feel Brittany's hand, Quinn? Can you feel the weight, the pressure? You're okay. You're alive. You're here."

Santana's so gentle, so soft, so concerned – Brittany wishes she could read her face in the dark and understand her emotions.

Quinn breathes heavily for a long while. "It was just a dream," she finally says.

"It was just a dream," Santana repeats, covering Brittany's hand with her own.

LXXVI

Santana drinks a glass of water in the kitchen, barefoot.

Brittany stares at the ground. "That was intense."

The glass clinks when Santana sets it on the counter. "Quinn has nightmares," she says. She lets her hair down and runs her fingers through the tangles. "She was in a car accident in our senior year. Got stuck in the wreckage for hours, until help came and managed to get her out. She was paralyzed from the waist down for almost a year."

Brittany stares at Santana, wide eyed.

"She has bad dreams sometimes, especially when she's under stress. She still doesn't drive." Santana looks at Brittany and, for a moment, they don't say anything. Santana goes to Brittany and wraps her arms around Brittany's waist.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Brittany says, running a hand through Santana's hair. Santana closes her eyes to her touch, leaning against Brittany's hand. "You're a good friend."

Santana nods and kisses Brittany's pulse. "Let's go to bed."

LXXVII

Brittany wakes up and Santana's screaming in the living room.

"And how did that fucking happen, huh? How did that get out, Sam Evans? I wonder." She sounds angry and irritated. Brittany gets up and Santana's in the living room, talking on the phone and pacing around in her pajamas. Her hair is messy, like she has just woken up. The TV is on and some news channel is on the screen.

"¿Si teníamos la información en un contrato de sigilo absoluto? Yo me pregunto, ¿qué tipo de brecha legal dejamos pasar? Yo me pregunto, ¿qué mierda están haciendo en mi equipe?" Santana listens for a few seconds. "Oh, ¿no habla español? I don't fucking care if you can't do your fucking job in another language. Get a fucking dictionary." She listens some more. "You better. If I were you, I would fix this, Evans, and I would do it by the next time I call your fucking cell."

Santana throws her phone on the couch like she can't stand holding it a second longer.

Brittany coughs.

Santana curses and looks at Brittany. "You scared me." She sits on the couch and hides her face in her hands. "Fucking awful start to the day."

It's amusing to see Santana so natural, without her put-together attitude. Brittany walks to her, sitting on the armrest by her side. "Someone woke up with a dirty mouth."

Santana groans and pulls Brittany onto her lap; Brittany straddles her. "People are fucking idiots." She runs her hands along Brittany's thighs. "Sam Evans is fucking naïve." Her hands inch up Brittany's back, under her shirt, firm and strong. "I could have woken up in bed next to you, but my day had to be ruined." She kisses Brittany's cleavage, open-mouthed and wet.

Brittany closes her eyes and grabs Santana's hair. Santana's nails sink into her lower back.

The phone rings. Brittany whines; Santana sighs and takes the call.

"He told me." She says, throwing her head back when Brittany's lips meet her neck. "I know." Brittany sucks and Santana opens her mouth, trying to control her breathing. Brittany runs her teeth over the same area. "I'll be there in a few," Santana says, throwing her phone aside and kissing Brittany, tongue against hers in no time.

They part for air and Brittany asks, blonde hair a curtain around Santana's face, "are you sure you have to go?"

"I do, unfortunately," Santana nods, stealing a quick kiss. "I'll take you home first, though. Give me just ten minutes to put some clothes on."

Brittany sighs and gets up.

LXXVIII

The taxi stops in front of Brittany's building. "When will I see you again?" she asks Santana.

She is always the one who asks, isn't she?

"This might take the whole day. So not today." Santana looks at the calendar on her phone. "I actually don't know." There are lots of red marks indicating appointments, meetings and whatever else. She puts the phone back in her purse. "I'll have to see how it goes. I'll call you."

Santana is always saying that, isn't she? She'll call Brittany. When she can. If she can. If she wants.

LXXIX

Rehearsal is about to start. Dancers are stretching and chatting, and Brittany and the choreographer are discussing a few moves.

Her phone rings. She jumps in surprise, having forgotten it was in her pocket.

The choreographer doesn't look too pleased.

It's Santana. Why would she be calling in the middle of the day? Brittany excuses herself and finds an empty room where she can take the call.

"I need to see you," Santana says instead of a greeting.

Brittany is having none of it. "Wait a second."

Santana waits.

Brittany rests her weight against the door. She checks her watch. "Yesterday you cancelled our day together because of some Sam Evans thing. You didn't go to Rachel's play. You cancel at least one date every week, always last minute, and we're always working around _your_ schedule and _your_ needs. You never know when you can see me. You don't even have a general idea. You keep me in the dark about yourself, about your life, about your schedule. Maybe I happen to be the one who's busy right now."

"I don't—" Santana stops short. She lets out a drawn-out sigh. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"I'm sorry, Santana, but I can't come running every time you call." Brittany runs a hand through her hair. Her heart beats without rhythm, with desperation – what had she just said? "I can't keep on like this."

Silence – long, unbearable silence.

"Okay," Santana says. She sounds so serious - it's so short – Brittany can't quite process what she has just heard. She's silent again, but Brittany's mouth feels dry and she can't bring herself to say anything else. "I just wish you had told me that in person."

Santana hangs up.

Brittany stares at the phone.

Had they just—


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was quite the polemic one with a lot of mixed feelings for everyone. I feel like I need to say something, so bear with me.   
> Deciding to turn this story into a multichapter means embracing the problems and conflicts that come with any relationship over time. Life's just like that: ups and downs, warmth and cold, misunderstandings and mistakes.  
> I have no interest in angst. I am not going to write a sad story. Brittana is endgame and they will get together -- I have so many things planned for them when they get past this! Patience. Wonderful things often take time and effort.  
> On with the story.

LXXX

Santana doesn’t answer the phone for a day.

For two.

For three.

LXXXI

The days are long, one after the other.

She has to teach three different dancers and correct the mistakes they’re making. That means three different sets of steps and movements and three different dance partners. It is challenging to be an assistant choreographer sometimes.

George arrives in faded jeans and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt. They exchange pleasantries – they aren’t friends, and Brittany doesn’t want to make small talk if she can avoid it – before Brittany goes over the steps with him.

They get in position and she lets him lead.

She feels mechanical.

LXXXII

She tries to understand what happened, but she can’t.

Santana’s voice echoes in her head, “I just wish you had told me that in person.”

She tries Santana’s number one more time, but is greeted by her voicemail again. She turns her own phone off and hides it in her bag.

She repeatedly hears Santana’s drawn-out sigh before asking “What exactly are you trying to say?", and the sad acceptance in it.

She never meant it – she just wanted Santana to be closer, for them to be _better_ together – she didn’t want to be without Santana. She had gotten used to Santana’s voice, Santana’s messages asking about her day, Santana’s fingertips tickling her lower back – she hadn’t meant that they shouldn’t see each other anymore.

“I just wish you had told me that in person,” Santana’s voice echoes.

LXXXIII

 “Brittany!” The choreographer calls her name. Brittany jumps a bit, startled. Every dancer stops to look at her. Her cheeks warm up until she is sure her entire face looks like a tomato, and she clears her throat.

“I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

“So I can see.” He frowns a bit and snaps his fingers. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

The dancers take the cue and stand in position. Mike shoots Brittany a worried glance, but she doesn’t look back at him. She shoves her hands in her pockets and tries to pay close attention to her group.

She holds her phone inside her pocket, just in case.

LXXXIV

Rachel knocks on the door and opens it slowly, only sneaking her head and shoulder in. The light outside filters in and makes out the shapes in Brittany’s room. “Are you okay?” she asks Brittany carefully.

“I just want to be alone for a while,” Brittany answers, not getting up or sitting up or moving under the covers. “Just a little while.”

Rachel nods, maybe -- Brittany can’t see that well in the dark – and closes the door.

She returns fifteen minutes later with a bucket of ice cream and her entire Sex And The City collection. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” she says right before she kisses the top of Brittany’s head.

When Rachel leaves, Brittany reaches for the bucket and spoon.

LXXXV

It’s Sunday night and she’s going mad. She needs to see Santana, to look in her eyes and talk to her. The silence – she can’t deal with it, not knowing what is happening, if Santana is okay, if _they_ can be okay.

She takes a long shower, hot water cascading down her body, but she doesn’t relax and her muscles don’t give. Her muscles have been tight for days, ever since Santana hung up on her. Her shoulders hurt, her neck hurts, her head hurts – at all times, in all places – and she is losing her mind in doubt.

She washes her hair and blow dries it. She tucks her white shirt in her black slacks and wears a cream-colored, lace crocheted scarf over it. She looks at herself in the mirror and all she sees is exhaustion, so she puts on some makeup. She curls the ends of her hair and she sprays on some perfume.

She takes a deep breath before leaving her apartment.

LXXXVI

Quinn is wearing her workout clothes and she has a bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair is in a ponytail. She raises one eyebrow at Brittany, not fully opening the door.

Brittany puts a lock of hair behind her ear. “Is Santana here?" She asks before clearing her throat. Quinn just stares. “She isn’t taking my calls.”

The eyebrow remains raised, challenging, defiant. Quinn steps out and closes the door behind her.

Brittany looks at Quinn. “Please, Quinn, just tell me if she’s there, if she’s okay.”

“You know, Brittany. I liked you. I really did.” Her gaze is penetrating and hard. She takes a step towards Brittany. She looks at Brittany from head to toe. “Do you want to know what she was going to tell you when she called you?”

Brittany realizes she's been cornered. She shakes her head.

“When you broke up with her?” Quinn takes another step forward.

Brittany takes a step back. “I didn’t—“

Quinn raises a commanding hand and Brittany stops speaking.

“She was going to tell you her grandmother had just been admitted to the hospital,” Quinn informs her, looking into her eyes.

It’s like being punched in the stomach. “I didn’t know—“

“You didn't know because you never gave her the opportunity to say it, did you? You couldn’t be there for her when she needed it.” Quinn says, ferocious, a mother protecting her child. “Not everything is about you, Brittany. She wasn’t picking up the phone because she went back home to be with her family.”

Brittany feels like throwing up.

“But you know what? You’re not my girlfriend. This isn’t my relationship.” She examines Brittany one last time. “I’m going to the gym. The door is unlocked. Suit yourself.”

Quinn leaves.

LXXXVII

Brittany is terrified when she enters the apartment. It’s silent, flooded with light. Her heartbeat bounces off every wall, every surface; she holds her breath, trying not to disturb the heaviness.

She hears clothes rustling in Santana’s room.

She enters.

Santana has a black suitcase open on her bed. She’s unfolding her shirts and hanging them up in her closet. She’s dressed in a black tank top, jeans, and black boots. She still smells like honey and wood.

“Hi.” Brittany tries, and Santana looks up at her.

She goes back to her suitcase, avoiding Brittany’s eyes. “What can I do for you?” There’s hostility underneath her words. It stings.

“I don’t know.” Brittany pauses. “I wanted to see you.”

Santana enters the closet and puts a few shirts away. “Well, Brittany, maybe I’m the one who’s too busy for this right now.”

Brittany takes a few steps forward. “Quinn told me about your grandma.” She reaches to touch Santana’s arm, but Santana retreats. “I’m sorry.”

Santana is still silent, taking a pair of shoes and entering her closet once more. Brittany waits for her.

Santana looks inscrutable. “You don’t owe me any apologies. You can go now.”

Brittany reaches for Santana a second time. Santana doesn’t let her. “Please. I want to know if you’re okay,” Brittany says.

Santana closes her suitcase with a thud and zips it. She turns to Brittany. “Of course I’m not okay. My grandmother is at the hospital and she’s hanging by a thread. My mom is by her side, waiting, expecting a reaction. I wanted to tell you these things.” She takes a step in Brittany’s direction – nothing else. “I wanted to see you and ask you if I should go before I boarded the plane, because my grandmother shut me out when she found out I'm a lesbian. She wouldn’t want to see me after regaining consciousness, would she? She hasn’t spoken to me in over a decade!”

It’s like someone stabbed Brittany in the stomach and twisted the knife around slowly.

She didn’t know – how could she have known –

“But you didn’t want to know that, did you? You had to kick me when I was already down. Over the phone. I thought we were past that and that you would at least do it in person. I thought I had a right to defend myself. Of course I didn’t. You weren’t interested in my answer.” Santana pauses, a little breathless, small tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. “I’m so angry at you, baby, I don’t even know what to say.”

It’s the first time she calls Brittany by any kind of affectionate nickname.

Brittany tries, “I didn’t want to break up with you.”

“Well, what do you want, then? Because I think you wanted to break up with me. That’s exactly what you wanted.” Tears are now falling, and Santana doesn’t try to wipe them off. “You’re angry, too. Do you think I don’t see your hurt and your disappointment? Do you think I don’t notice that the time and attention I’m offering you aren't enough? Do you think I don’t know you resent me for rejecting the "girlfriend" label for us? I can see it – I can _feel_ it every time you look at me!”

Brittany is crying as well – she can’t help it, her heart is breaking, Santana is coming undone in front of her and she’s letting her, she’s just watching it happen in disbelief.

“You’re insecure – like I have the time or the energy to be with someone else. Why would I _want_ anyone else? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? Have you? You’re incredibly gorgeous, you’re funny, you’re interesting, you’re caring and warm and – why would I even _blink_ in anyone’s direction?” She takes a sharp breath and sits on the bed. She runs a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, Brittany, because I am doing my best. My life is not going to change overnight – and neither will I. So maybe you deserve something more, someone more committed, with more time, someone who’s not me.”

Brittany kneels in front of her, and this time Santana doesn’t push her away. She wipes away Santana’s tears with the palm of her hand and she runs her thumbs along the corners of Santana’s eyes. Santana wraps her hands around Brittany’s wrists.

Brittany shakes her head a bit, and her anger dissipates. “Silly.” She joins their lips. Santana’s salty, and wet, and giving; her arms go around Brittany’s shoulders and she scoots closer, lips parting to Brittany’s without hesitation. She’s so warm to the touch; Brittany pulls her closer by the waist, kissing her upper lip, her lower lip, taking it between her teeth and pulling softly.

Brittany pushes Santana backwards, changing positions until Santana’s back meets the mattress and Brittany settles fully on top of her, between her legs. She kisses Santana properly this time, tongue running along Santana’s lower lip before entering her mouth. Santana sighs, running the heels of her boots against Brittany’s legs, pulling her even closer.

Brittany runs her tongue against the roof of Santana’s mouth before she meets Santana’s tongue with her own and massages it, circles it, rubs their tongues together, her hips weighing against Santana’s. She sucks on Santana’s tongue before she goes to Santana’s neck, placing wet kisses and sucking. She takes the back of Santana’s thigh to pull her legs around her waist, and presses her hips down.

Santana takes a sharp breath and whines Brittany’s name.

Brittany takes Santana’s boots and her own scarf off, throwing them aside.

Neither of them are crying anymore, but she wouldn’t be able to tell exactly when they had stopped.

“Baby, we shouldn’t—“ Santana tries to say, but Brittany bites an already sensitive spot on her neck, and Santana’s sentence falls short, her head thrown back and her mouth half open. Her nails scratch Brittany’s upper back hard and long under her shirt, and Brittany sucks harder in reprimand.

“I just want you,” she says in Santana’s ear before she presses her hips down one more time. “Just you,” she repeats.

Santana makes a strangled sound and clings to Brittany, her legs tightening around Brittany’s hips. Her nails sink into Brittany’s lower back, pulling their centers against each other. Brittany kisses her, tongue against Santana’s until they’re both breathless.

She looks in Santana’s eyes. Santana looks so quiet, so sad – are they breaking up?

Santana turns them over. She takes a few deep breaths and runs a hand over her hair. “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t think straight when you do it.”

Brittany sits up, back against the headboard, and wraps an arm around Santana’s waist. “Then don’t.” She kisses Santana, demanding, biting, until Santana cups her face and takes control. Her body presses Brittany against the headboard and her tongue takes over Brittany’s mouth until Brittany is moaning and tugging her shirt up.

Santana’s tanned skin is on display; her shirt on the floor feels like a relief. Brittany kisses her breasts over her bra. Santana gasps and holds on to the headboard. Brittany bites and sucks, palming Santana’s lower back. “This isn’t—“ Santana tries once more, but Brittany has already taken her bra off, and there is nothing separating her mouth from Santana’s skin.

Santana groans; her head falls forward, black hair cascading over Brittany’s, and she bites her lip to refrain from making any sound. Brittany smiles at her reaction. She takes her time, her teeth over Santana’s breasts, the tip of her tongue circling Santana’s nipple before she finally kisses it, wet and slow.

Santana’s hands fall from the headboard so one can grasp Brittany’s hair, pulling, and the other can scratch Brittany back so hard it stings. Brittany hisses, but she doesn’t stop; she switches to Santana’s other breast and does the same, teasing the flesh with her teeth, placing wet kisses all around it, blowing hot air down the valley of her breasts, until the tip of her tongue meets Santana’s nipple.

Brittany looks up at her. “Stop thinking, for a change.”

Santana bites Brittany’s lower lip, her hands on Brittany’s chin to control the kiss. She nips Brittany’s jaw line, and when she reaches Brittany’s ear she whispers, “Stop telling me what to do.” She takes advantage of the shiver that goes through Brittany’s entire body to take off her shirt and her bra. “Because I do what I want,” she whispers again, placing a wet kiss on the spot beneath Brittany’s ear.

Brittany moans and arches her back against Santana, wondering when they had turned tables.

She unzips Santana’s pants. Santana leaves the bed and stands up. She takes off her jeans slowly, looking into Brittany’s eyes. Brittany watches and licks her lips at the black underwear, taking the opportunity to get rid of her own pants.

Santana raises her eyebrows. “Come and get it.”

Brittany sits on the edge of the bed. Santana is taller than her like this, and she puts her arms around Brittany’s neck. Brittany looks up at her. “Fucking tease,” she says, kissing the valley of Santana’s breasts, tracing patterns with her tongue. “Fucking tease,” she repeats and pulls Santana against her, skin on skin, as her kisses trace a path downwards. Santana scratches the back of her head, holding her breath.

She tugs Santana’s underwear down, until Santana steps out of it. Her hands palm the back of Santana’s thighs until Santana is straddling her, legs wide open. Brittany touches Santana, running a finger over her folds. “God, Santana, you’re soaked—“

Santana gasps and holds on to Brittany, eyes closed. Brittany strokes Santana’s clit, one, two, three, four times; Santana pants in her ear, letting out small strangled cries between her shallow breaths; Brittany does it again and again, rhythmic and firm, until Santana’s trembling in her arms. Brittany runs two fingers over Santana’s folds, barely able to breathe herself – Santana’s so intense, and this could be the last time, they have nothing, every single issue is still there, waiting for them—

“Jesus, Brittany, please,” Santana mumbles, biting Brittany’s shoulder. “Just do it—please,” she’s begging now, kissing Brittany sloppy and wet, and Brittany herself can’t take it.

She enters Santana, slow, curving her fingers, and Santana moans in her mouth, biting her lower lip. “Harder,” Santana tells her, and Brittany obeys. Santana’s tight, and she clenches around Brittany’s fingers, hips moving, lips parted. “Yes, baby, just like that,” she says, forehead touching Brittany’s.

Santana sinks her nails on Brittany’s back – when did she let them grow that long, because it _hurts_ – breath mingling with Brittany’s, a drop of sweat running between her breasts – Brittany just keeps at it, like she wants to, how she wants to – until Santana comes undone, shivers, tenses and relaxes, cheek burning hot against Brittany’s.

Santana’s shivering from head to toe. She whimpers when Brittany’s fingers leave her, licking her own lips. She looks at Brittany and blinks a few times, as if disoriented, hands cupping Brittany’s face. Brittany kisses her soft and slow. “Let’s go to bed,” she tells Santana because they are in no condition to talk.

Santana tries to argue; Brittany kisses her again. “Let’s go to bed,” she repeats, and she waits until Santana nods to pull them both under the covers. “Everything can wait,” she says as Santana rests her head on her collarbone, an arm over her stomach.


	11. Chapter 11

LXXXVIII

Brittany wakes up; it’s dark and she’s alone. The bed is empty when she turns around and tries to grasp her surroundings. She’s alone in the bedroom.

She leaves the bed and takes Santana’s spare robe from her closet before she leaves, feeling the cold fabric against her skin as she dresses herself.

Santana is standing by the window, wearing a red robe wrapped loosely around her waist. She seems to be lost in thought, nestling a mug in her hands and staring at nothing in particular.

It's dark. There’s only a lamp lit up by Santana’s side.

“Are you okay?” Brittany asks, yawning. She stands behind the couch, her hands touching the fabric as she considers taking a few steps closer. “What time is it?”

“Around 3 am, maybe,” Santana answers without looking at the clock. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.” She fiddles a bit with the mug, distracted. “Do you want some tea? I just made some.”

Brittany shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.” A tense silence falls. Was it the late hour or was it them? Brittany doesn’t know. She takes a shaky breath – she has to know. “Are we breaking up, Santana?”

The mug shines under the glow of the lamp when Santana turns it in her hands, staring at its contents before looking at Brittany. Brittany watches Santana’s jawline tensing, but says nothing.

“Do you want to?” Santana asks and sips her tea. “Be honest.”

The window must be cracked open; she can hear the slow whisper of wind filling the silence around them. She wonders if Santana is always going to avoid her questions.

“I don’t. Do you?” she asks, her mouth dry in anticipation.

Maybe the effort is not worth it, maybe it’s too late—

“No.” Santana looks right at Brittany. “I want us to work.”

Brittany closes her eyes in relief, releasing the breath she had been holding. She realizes this is going to take a while, so she takes a seat on the couch. “I think we need an Honesty Hour.”

LXXXIX

Santana sits on an armchair and takes a deep breath. “You start.”

Brittany crosses her legs, swallowing dry before saying, “I resent you for closing me off and being evasive. I feel left out of everything, from your past to your present to your family to your feelings.”

Santana doesn’t say anything for a moment. She sets her mug aside and clears her throat, her posture stiffening. “I resent you for making me the villain in our relationship. I make mistakes.”

Fair point. But Brittany has had a comeback ready for some time now and she has to say it, even if she feels paralyzed. “I resent you for making me feel unimportant. I feel like I’m second place in your life. I feel like I care more than you do.”

Santana doesn’t miss a beat. She doesn't try to argue, respecting the rules Brittany had set – she just looks sad and alone on the other side of the room. “I resent you for not telling the truth when I ask if you’re mad or how you feel. I feel blindsided.”

Fair point, Brittany has to concede once more. She frowns a bit and runs her tongue along her lower lip. “I resent you for not wanting to change anything for our relationship. I feel like I’m always the one to give in. I resent you for making me always take the first step.”

Santana frowns in return, surprised. She runs the tips of her fingers on the armrest, nodding, immersed in thought. She finally looks back at Brittany. “I resent you for not being there for me when I needed you.”

Brittany sighs and runs her clammy hands on her robe. There they were, in circles again, in circles as always – was there a way out? “I resent you for turning tables and making me feel like the bad guy. I had awful timing, but I couldn’t have known about your grandma.”

XC

Santana falls silent. It's her turn, but she seems to have said her piece. Brittany looks at her own hands and she is trembling, she is terrified of this conversation; she bites her lip and stares at the ground for a moment to recollect her thoughts.

Brittany knows she has to change directions. “I’m sorry I snapped at you over the phone.”

The left corner of Santana’s mouth lifts a bit as she nods in understanding. Brittany’s glad for the silence, for once – every word in the living room seems to echo and she doesn’t really know what to do with them.

Santana’s hands grasp the armrest. “I’m sorry I snapped at you when you arrived.” She gestures between them. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Brittany clears her throat. She has another big apology to make, so she continues. “I’m sorry about your grandma. It must have been hard for you.”

Santana nods again -- barely perceptible, her eyes closing for a second too long in acceptance. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you didn’t matter. It was never my intention.” Her hands still hold the armrest so tight Brittany can see her knuckles turning white. “You’re very important to me. I want you in my life.”

Brittany feels warmth creep upon her cheeks. “I’m glad we are talking now.”

“I’m glad you came to me today.” Santana takes a moment to hesitate before standing up. She sits on the far end of the couch, closer to Brittany but not yet close enough. “I’m so glad you didn’t just give up on us.”

XCI

Santana falls silent one more time. She's soft and tentative, like Brittany's a bird she might scare away if she's too blunt. Brittany feels it’s time to change directions again; she slides forward on the couch – it’s in vain and Santana’s still on the other side, but she can’t help trying to be closer.

“Why did you accept our breakup so easily?”

Santana sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “You’re not the first to break up with me like that, to bottle it up and yell at me when you can't stand it anymore.” She looks into Brittany’s eyes, very serious. “I had already noticed you bottling up your frustration, and I didn't know what to do to fix it. I was hoping you’d come to me and we could talk about it. And honestly? I was tired and sad and confused – I didn’t have the strength to argue.”

The wind finally forces the window open -- its rhythmic slams against the wall take over the room. Santana gets up to close it. When she walks back to the couch, Brittany pats the space right next to her and Santana takes the cue.

She settles next to Brittany, thigh against thigh, the familiar scent of her skin taking over, and it’s like they are finally getting somewhere. "I respect you, Brittany. I respect the decisions you make. I won't try to convince you to be with me, because you are the only one who knows if it's good for you, if you want this. I won't negotiate."

Brittany holds Santana’s stare. “I wish you had said something, anything at all. When you hung up I was as surprised as you,” she says, clasping her hands together to stop their trembling. “I never meant for us to break up. I wanted us to be better together.”

Santana looks away and sighs. “I just wanted to run away from it. I didn’t know what to do. I told myself I needed to focus on my family and think about us later, when I had cooled down.” She stops and frets with her robe, staring at the window. “My family – it can be overwhelming.”

Brittany presses. “I wish you’d told me.”

Santana turns to look at Brittany again; their thighs brush harder against one another. “I was hurting. I was so tired and confused… I couldn’t stop thinking about that phone call. It was driving me crazy.” She turns on another lamp by the couch; Brittany can see her clearly now, without shadows. "I felt really afraid. How we met… it’s unusual. We have different jobs and we move in different circles. We might as well have never met. We could just as well never meet again. You would never have to see me if you didn’t want to.” She wraps the robe around herself a bit tighter; her voice barely above a whisper. "I was so scared. I didn't know what to do."

Brittany bites her lip; her heart beats quickly in her chest.

Santana continues in a small voice, “Why didn’t you just talk to me before? I told you: tell me when it stops being fun.”

“I don’t know," Brittany confesses. “I feel guilty because you have a job to get to, and when we meet you always look like you’re sorry and you apologize.” Her eyes scan Santana’s face before dropping to her own hands. “I didn’t feel like there was a good moment. I didn't feel like I could talk to you. Sometimes you’re hard to get to.”

“I know.” Santana looks so beaten, so tired. She runs a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. It’s a hard habit to break.”

Brittany presses. “Are you willing to?”

Santana’s answer is surprisingly fast. “Yes. Anything you want.”

XCII

“I want to say something – something I should have made clear a long time ago,” Santana says. She takes a few deep breaths; Brittany gives her time. “I’m happier when I’m with you. I – I feel light, like I have something to look forward to.” Her eyes quietly meet Brittany’s. “You’re so free, Britt, and so fulfilled – like I wish I could be.”

Brittany can feel herself blushing, the warmth on her face spreading to her ears and her neck.

Santana places her hand between them, palm up. “I like who I am when I’m with you. I’m at my best.” Brittany understands the offer and intertwines their fingers tightly. Santana’s entire body seems to loosen in relief. “Much better.”

XCIII

The sky begins to turn into a lighter blue. How much time had passed? Brittany uses her free hand to draw patterns on Santana’s arm. She feels calmer and braver; on an impulse, she pulls Santana closer, lying back against the couch.

Santana complies and lies on top of her, head on Brittany’s collarbone; Brittany lets out a breathy sigh of relief. She nuzzles the top of Santana’s head, taking in the scent of her shampoo as she wraps one arm around Santana’s waist. Santana sighs and nestles herself more against Brittany.

“Quinn is harsh, by the way.”

Santana nods and laughs a bit before yawning, her nose scrunching up a bit. “She can be. She said both of us need a good slap in the face.”

Brittany raises her eyebrows when she remembers Quinn’s face. “She is scary. Did she talk to you?”

Santana shakes her head and plays with Brittany’s hand. “Not yet. She is torn between defending me and wanting to bitch slap me back to my senses,” she says with a hint of a smile.

“I don’t want her to be mad at me.”

“It’s not like anyone has the heart to.” Santana kisses Brittany’s pulse point. Brittany wonders if she can feel her heartbeat, erratic under her lips. “You’re the type of person who makes funny faces at children on the subway.”

Brittany’s blush sets in again, stronger; she feels her entire body hot and she wonders if she has turned into a tomato for good by now. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”

Santana laughs. “Who doesn’t notice a tall blonde on the subway? There wasn't much to look at but you.”

XCIV

“Santana, dad said—“ Quinn’s sentence stops short when she looks up from her phone and spots Brittany. She soothes her black nightgown with her hand before speaking again, “Look who spent the night.”

“Good morning,” Santana says simply.

“Good morning,” Quinn answers politely. “I take it you two are good now?”

“Trying to,” Santana answers. “What do you say, Britt?”

“Getting there?” Brittany answers. She feels nervous under Quinn’s stare.

Quinn smiles. “Welcome back, Brittany. Took you both long enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Tony will be here in half an hour and I’m far from ready.” She turns to Santana. “Or should I tell him to come by a bit later?”

Santana shakes her head. “No. I don’t want to be late.”

XCV

“Are you not going to sleep?” Brittany frowns.

Santana puts a lock of hair behind Brittany’s ear. “No time. I’ll take a nap on the plane.”

“I have an idea,” Brittany says, quietly leaning into Santana’s ear. “You meet me tonight at eight and we continue. Can you?”

She sees the hairs on the back of Santana’s neck stand as she shivers. It makes her smile. “Yes. We have a small trip to Washington, but we should be back by five.” When she turns to look at Brittany, she seems to realize how close they are, and her eyes fall to Brittany’s lips.

Brittany runs her tongue along her lower lip. Santana watches.

Quinn clears her throat, and Santana’s little startled jump makes Brittany smile.

XCVI

Brittany gets dressed; she stands by the closet mirror, checking her hair and pulling on her crocheted scarf when Santana gently takes her wrist. Brittany turns to her – she looks gorgeous again, donning a long-sleeved black dress, impeccable makeup hiding every sign of tiredness.

"See you tonight?" Santana asks softly. Brittany understands she means _will we see each other again?_

She nods. "Yes. Tonight. Don’t worry."

Santana’s hand lets go of Brittany’s wrist and she intertwines their fingers. Brittany pulls her closer until their bodies meet.

“I am going to ruin your makeup a little bit now, okay?” Brittany asks, inching her face closer. Santana nods and stands on her toes. She clings to Brittany’s scarf as they join their lips, letting out a breathy sigh when Brittany wraps her arms around her, steadying her.

Brittany kisses her lower lip, pulling it between her own; she runs her teeth along Santana’s inner lip, worrying the flesh, and Santana actually whimpers into the kiss, pressing her body against Brittany a little harder.

Quinn’s voice breaks the spell from the living room. “Santana, are you ready? Time’s up!”

Santana takes a small step back, licking her own lips as she stares at Brittany’s. “Be out in a second!”

“Don’t you have a meeting to go to?” Brittany asks, teasing, as she turns to the mirror to wipe off Santana’s bright red lipstick from her own lips.

Santana rolls her eyes but doesn’t answer, choosing to enter the bathroom and fix her makeup instead.

XCVII

Brittany looks forward to it all day. She texts Santana the address and tells her to show up in comfortable clothing, and Santana answers immediately that she will be there. She has breakfast with Rachel, she goes to work, she has lunch with Mike, and nothing sticks – the day passes through her as she waits and plans.

XCVIII

Santana enters the dance studio slowly, looking around. She's dressed in what are most likely her workout clothes, and her hair is in a tight ponytail. Brittany smiles at her tentative steps, trying to guess what’s next.

The mirrors in every wall multiply their images infinite times.

Brittany is barefoot, wearing loose, comfortable clothing. Santana stands before her, expectant. "I thought we'd try some stretching," Brittany says. "Against the mirror."

Santana doesn’t move for a moment, expecting an explanation. Brittany stares right back at her. She has to get Santana to give up control and just go with the flow.

She runs her hand along the back of Santana’s arm, taking a step closer.

“Trust me on this,” she says softly, looking into Santana’s eyes.

Santana rests her hands on Brittany’s waist.

“Let me lead, darling,” Brittany asks.

Santana finally nods. Brittany joins their lips for a moment, gentle and encouraging. Santana sighs into the kiss; she breaks the contact and walks toward one of the mirrors. Brittany stops her when she’s a few feet away, holding her by the waist, and runs her hand down the smooth skin of Santana’s arm until Santana’s hands are on the mirror.

Santana licks her lower lip.

"Place your weight on your forearms,” Brittany puts some of her own weight into Santana, her front meeting Santana’s back, her breath on Santana’s ear. "Keep your heels on the ground."

Santana obeys. It's easy. Brittany counts in her head. She makes Santana stand a few inches further from the mirror, her calves stretching. She adds more weight to Santana. She sees Santana's biceps tensing.

She waits for Santana to begin to notice how she carries herself; time seems to become slower as she counts the seconds.

"Nice. Now sit on the floor."

Santana silently does so. Brittany kneels by her side and touches Santana’s thigh, palm warm against the fabric, so Santana crosses her right leg over her left. Santana looks into her eyes the whole time, breasts rising and falling faster.

She smells like honey and wood, like trees and something else – it’s both familiar and distracting.

Brittany takes Santana’s left hand and places it on Santana’s right leg. Santana frowns a bit with the uncomfortable position, but doesn’t question it. “Now rotate your upper body to the right, nice and slow."

She kneels behind Santana, running her hand slowly over Santana’s shoulders, over her back, feeling the muscles responding to the exercise. "I get you, you know. The kind of person you are,” she says to Santana’s ear. "You think you are what you do – you’re all about the brains, the actions, the plans. You get things done."

She sees the goose bumps on Santana’s arms; she wonders if her heart is pounding strongly enough for Santana to feel against her skin.

“Switch sides," she instructs. Santana obeys. Brittany touches her again, pressing her palm against Santana’s back, feeling the muscles and guiding the exercise.

It’s incredibly silent again; all she can hear is their shaky breaths.

“Do you know which muscles you use the most, which ones are always tense?” She presses into a particular spot on Santana’s lower back and earns a painful whine. “Are you aware of your posture?”

Her lower lip grazes the shell of Santana’s ear – all she wants for a second is to attach her lips to Santana’s neck. But she doesn’t; she takes a red foam roll and gives it to Santana.

"Lie face down with one leg on this,” she instructs. Santana obeys, her arms tensing with the effort to hold her upper body. “Roll over the foam between your hip and knee, darling,” Brittany says.

She places her hand on the back of Santana’s thigh, making sure Santana is shifting as much weight onto the foam roll as she can.

This exercise is much more difficult; Santana struggles with it a bit before she finds her balance among the slow, deliberate movements.

Brittany grins at Santana’s effort before she continues softly, "You don’t know your body or your limits. Your migraines, your insomnia, your pain: you need to understand it." She pauses for a moment and chooses a point of tension. “Hold.”

She sees Santana's thighs tensing, trying to support her weight.

Santana breathes loudly through her mouth. Brittany counts, trying to ignore her own clammy hands. "Keep rolling,” she says, letting go of Santana’s legs and wiping the palm of her hand on her shirt.

“Repeat with the other leg,” Brittany coaches, changing sides to follow the exercise. “Your body is not all aesthetics. It’s not only how you look.”

She sees the sweat on the back of Santana's neck. “Hold.” Santana takes a few deep breaths. Brittany counts to thirty in her head. "Can you feel the effort your body puts into this?” Santana nods at the question.

“You are also how you move, how you carry your body and what you choose to do with it. Keep rolling," Brittany says. Santana bites her lower lip and nods one more time.

Brittany finally pushes the foam away. "Lie on your back." Santana does as told. Brittany raises Santana's left leg up and holds her ankle firmly, using her shoulder to support Santana's leg.

Santana looks straight at her, challenging and silent. Brittany holds her stare.

"Try to flex your knee." Santana does as she is told; Brittany counts to twenty. "Relax. I’m going to push your leg towards your head now. Tell me if I'm overstretching you."

Santana bites her lip with the effort, but doesn’t stop Brittany.

Seeing Santana's frown, Brittany stops pushing and holds. "I love what I do, Santana. I have a hard time talking to you not because we are different – I love that about us – but because we are not balanced.”

Santana nods.

"Let's switch." She lets Santana's leg go and they assume their previous position. Brittany holds Santana's right ankle and Santana tries to flex her knee. "What I do is important. I want you to be in my life. And I want to be in yours."

She counts in her head. "Relax." She proceeds to push Santana's leg once more, a little beyond Santana's limit. "Can we try again? Better, this time? With more talking and less hiding?"

Santana sits up, her chest falling and rising with the effort. "Better.”

She pulls Brittany’s hand; Brittany straddles her, taking a moment to get rid of Santana’s ponytail and dive her fingers into black locks. “How about,” Santana says, arms around Brittany, “we go on a date tomorrow and I tell you everything?”

“Only if you promise to get a good night’s sleep tonight,” Brittany answers, running her fingers through Santana’s hair. “No energy drinks.”

“Done,” Santana says, tightening her hold and pulling Brittany closer.

Their bodies pressing against each other feel delicious; Brittany closes her eyes for a moment. Santana takes advantage of Brittany’s closed eyes and kisses her, slow and determined. Brittany smiles into the kiss, grabbing a fistful of Santana’s hair and taking control.

Santana moans, not bothered in the least.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone been amazing here and on Tumblr. Thank you. (Thank you to Erica and Nic for the beta'ing, as usual.)
> 
> You might be interested in the Fic Commentary tag on my Tumblr, by the way. I answered some very interesting questions regarding scenes, characters, etc.
> 
> On with the story.

 

XCIX

Brittany is eating her bowl of milk and cereal; Rachel eats her balanced, nutritious shake of something green. It's early morning; Brittany's hair is up in a messy bun and she's wearing her softest pajamas.

Someone rings the bell – did they even have a bell? Their friends were the type to just burst the door open.

"Maybe it's the landlord," Rachel says with a frown.

Brittany puts her spoon down and goes to the door.

A tall man is there – thick black hair graying on the edges, broad shoulders, dressed in a black suit – and he's holding a big pink box in his hands.

"Tony!" she says, smiling. "You're so tall."

He laughs, his deep voice echoing on the hallway. "That I am," he agrees with a nod. "You know, I don't generally do delivery. But I decided doing a little favor wouldn't hurt."

"Is this for me?" Brittany asks, taking a step closer.

"It is. Santana sends her regards." He gives the box to Brittany. "I need to go now. Have a good day, Miss."

"You too, Tony!" Brittany waves goodbye as he leaves. She closes the door.

Rachel is sitting by the table; she gestures for Brittany to sit. "Who is Tony? What's in the box?"

"He's the driver." Brittany shrugs, sitting by Rachel's side and placing the box on the table. "Someone's driver. I don't even know."

She bites her lower lip and takes a deep breath before opening the box.

There are twenty cupcakes – exact copies of the one she had given Santana such a long time ago, when they had just started dating. Brittany smiles, taking the handwritten note in her hand.

_You gave me a cupcake once when I needed something sweet and colorful, so I decided to return the favor. Thank you for yesterday._

Brittany bites back her own smile, reading the note for the second and third and fourth time.

"Santana knows her way to a woman's heart." Rachel says as she takes her first bite. "She's a smart one."

 

C

Brittany looks around, checking if she's on the right street. Taking a few steps, she sees the bright red sign for Leo's Pizza Place standing out in the dark. Perfect.

She's about to enter when she sees Santana sitting on the steps to the next building, focused on turning around a ring on her finger. Brittany smiles softly and goes to her.

"Hey."

Santana seems to wake from her trance. Her eyes widen a bit when she sees Brittany. "You're here," she says as she stands up at once – Brittany wonders if Santana's expression would be one of surprise.

Santana pats her jeans a few times to take off the dust, fretting with her clothes and mumbling something Brittany can't understand.

"Of course I'm here," Brittany says, taking a step closer and looking to Santana.

Santana hesitates for a moment. Brittany, however, doesn't expect a reply – she is not going to let them be awkward and tentative around each other. She joins their lips, wrapping her arms around Santana. Santana lets out a long sigh; her hands settle on Brittany's collarbone, grasping her shirt.

Brittany tilts her head at the same time Santana parts her lips, slowly, snuggling against Brittany a little more – Brittany takes the cue and deepens the kiss, her tongue meeting Santana's, warm and wet.

Santana whines in Brittany's mouth, her hands moving up to Brittany's neck. Brittany pulls her closer, palming Santana's back.

"You do know we're in the middle of street, right?" Santana asks between kisses, smiling. She scratches the back of Brittany's neck, taking Brittany's lower lip between her own.

"I'm not the one who decided to wait outside," Brittany answers, her lips a breath away from Santana's.

"I didn't want to be that girl sitting by herself at a table in the corner," Santana says, her eyes still closed, "drinking wine and waiting for her date to show up."

There are times Santana is so honest Brittany doesn't know what to do with her.

"Oh, darling," she says, cupping Santana's face and kissing her again.

 

 

CI

Brittany is decisive. "Pepperoni. And a regular coke."

Santana smiles and nods to the waitress, who takes the order and leaves.

"So how do we do this?" Santana asks, running her thumb on Brittany's palm. "Should I show you my CV or should I start with my earliest childhood memory?"

She seems to realize something. "Or maybe," she continues, taking a card out of her wallet and placing it on the table, "I can give you my real card, instead of the blank one with just my name and phone number I gave you when we first met."

Brittany places her own hand on top of the card. "Mind if I try something first?" She puts it in her pocket without looking at the information.

Santana looks at her with her little confused frown.

"I think I have a pretty good idea of what you do."

"Do tell," Santana says, the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile.

"Well, there were clues. Quinn's job, first," she says, stopping to let the waitress serve them their Coke.

"You, in front of City Hall," she sips her drink, "when accusations of corruption in public office was the talk of the week," her heart races and paces and drums.

Santana lifts one eyebrow, but says nothing.

"You went to a gala," Brittany continues, licking her own lips. Santana scratches the back of her hand, body leaning towards Brittany. "And the New York Times the next day had a piece on the gala for Women's Leaders," she puts her arm on the back of Santana's chair, pulling her close. "The Mayor held a speech there."

Santana nods. It's exhilarating to have Santana's attention so completely, so intensely.

Brittany clears her throat. "I wake up and you're screaming in front of a news channel on how something got out. Funny, isn't it? How you're always the one with the politicians and their speeches, and news and parties and things like that?"

Santana rests her head on the palm of her hand, looking at Brittany. "You're a genius."

"So I thought: politicians need someone to take care of their image," Brittany says, looking down to hide her own smile. "You seem to be around the Mayor a lot, and Quinn is a political _liaison_ at one of the biggest law firms in this town… Makes sense she would be the one to manage the Mayor's account."

"Wow," Santana says, playing with Brittany's fingers. "How long have you known this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You told me you liked to think you were more than your job," Brittany explains, her heart finally slowing down. It's simple. "You are."

 

CII

Brittany takes another eager bite. "I love this pizza so much I could write a poem to it."

"Me too. Quinn and I used to come here all the time when we were in college." Santana smiles at her, eating her own slice, her hands covered in flour. "They had beer and pizza, and they closed late – it was everything we could ask for."

The smell of cheese and pepperoni is wonderful and the fact that Santana's getting messy is so adorable Brittany has to smile.

"It was before office work and dressing formally," Santana explains, cleaning the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "I had style. Leather jackets, worn out jeans, Raybans."

"That's hot," Brittany says, already imagining Santana's outfit, "rock star hot."

"Maybe you'll see it one day," Santana says right before stealing a greasy kiss. "If you're lucky."

Brittany steals another kiss right back, her greasy fingertips touching Santana's jaw on purpose. Santana makes a high pitched sound and tries to get away, but Brittany just pulls her closer and deepens the kiss. Her fingertips slide on Santana's face, but Santana doesn't seem to mind; she parts her lips to Brittany and welcomes her tongue with her own, smiling into the kiss.

"You're gross," Brittany tells her as she goes back to her own pizza.

Santana places her hand on Brittany's cheek; it's sticky and smelly and greasy. "No, you are."

"You didn't just do that."

"I did," is the answer, followed by a crooked grin when Santana's finger traces Brittany's jawline. Santana gets up as Brittany stares dumbly. "I'm going to wash myself, so excuse me," she says, before walking towards the bathroom.

Brittany follows.

 

 

CIII

Brittany locks the door behind her; she watches Santana's stupid grin.

"You don't play fair," Brittany says, the grease and the flour sticking to her skin.

Santana shrugs, her hands white with the soap. "You started it," she says and runs her hands on her face in the hope of cleaning herself.

Brittany presses her front to Santana's back, not missing the small pleasant sigh Santana makes. Santana reaches for the towel and Brittany reaches for the faucet, trapping Santana to the sink as she washes her hands and then runs a wet palm on her cheeks.

Small droplets fall on Santana's shoulder and pool on her collarbone before falling between her breasts.

Santana turns around and dries Brittany with the soft white towel – her cheeks, her jawline, her neck, until it's clear all she wants to do is to keep on touching Brittany.

Brittany closes her eyes, basking in the moment; her hands grab Santana's waist to make sure they're flush against each other. The towel stops moving and disappears to be replaced with Santana's fingertips.

She still has her eyes closed when she feels Santana's breath and leans in, searching for Santana's lips.

 

 

CIV

Her phone rings because of course her phone rings. Santana's got her pressed against the wall with her tongue drawing wonderful patterns on Brittany's neck, and Brittany's phone is ringing.

She reaches for her back pocket. "It's Kurt," she announces; Santana hums into her ear and places an open mouthed kiss that gets Brittany gasping.

"Hey Britt!" Kurt greets when she takes the call, "So I was leaving the movies with Blaine and I heard you had cupcakes at your house."

Lips closing on Brittany's pulse point, Santana sucks slowly.

Brittany makes a sound between a yes and a groan.

"We came straight over with martinis and you're not here," Kurt continues, oblivious, "and that will not do! We must drink and eat. You should call Mike and Tina."

The tips of Santana's fingers grasp so hard to Brittany's hip they must be bruised by now; with her lips parted, she can't bring herself to care. "But I'm with Santana," she manages to say, feeling Santana smile against her skin.

"Wonderful. Bring her over!"

 

 

CV

"But Kurt told me to bring you over," Brittany pouts, standing in front of her building.

Santana's arms are wrapped loosely around her waist, and she steal a chaste kiss that makes Brittany feel all kinds of light headed.

"You should have a fun night with your friends. I know how much a girlfriend or boyfriend can ruin the mood," Santana says softly, "and I do have to work tomorrow."

"But Blaine and Kurt are together, and Mike and Tina, and so are we and I want you there," Brittany tries her best pout again.

"No pouting," Santana warns her, kissing the pout away once more.

Kurt's and Blaine's heads pop out the window.

"I knew I had heard them!" Kurt says and claps excitedly. "Hurry up!"

How did they get drunk so easily?

Santana waves to Kurt before turning to Brittany. "Do you really want me there?"

"Of course, silly," Brittany answers, beaming with the realization she had just won this negotiation.

"Let's go, then," Santana takes her by the hand, "but I can't stay for long."

 

 

CVI

Tina gives them a glass and a cupcake as soon as they go through the door. "Rachel and Kurt are obsessed with board games, if I were you—"

"Britt! Santana! You have finally arrived!" Rachel cuts in and hugs them both briefly. "I was beginning to feel bad about having those exquisite cupcakes without the both of you here."

Santana's arm around her waist feels cozy and Brittany's more amused than frustrated, so she just nods.

"Kurt and I thought Pictionary would be the best thing for this party," Rachel promptly begins to explain, "every person who guesses the drawing correctly gets a cupcake, and if no one does it within a previously agreed time limit, the person in charge of the drawing must finish her drink."

Brittany frowns a little as she tries to make sense of their game.

"I told you," Tina whispers as she goes to the couch.

Santana plays with Brittany's shirt as she asks Rachel, "Did you just make that up?"

"Well, I'd have you know—"

"Yes!" Kurt says, and by Brittany's calculations he must be third-drink tipsy.

 

 

CVII

Santana doesn't drink much, because she has to work, but Mike's strong and Blaine and Kurt are not stopping.

Brittany, Tina and Rachel share tipsy giggles every once in a while.

Brittany is sitting on the couch's armrest, so she can be by Santana's side. Santana has her arm draped over Brittany's legs, her hand caressing Brittany's knee.

It's really different, Brittany thinks. Santana's quieter in this big group interaction, nodding and laughing but not really speaking. She never raises her hand to be the next one drawing. "Are you okay?" she whispers in Santana's ear when Rachel tries to draw something and banter with Kurt.

"I am," Santana assures her, squeezing her knee. "You friends are fun."

Brittany nurtures her drink with one hand and runs the other on Santana's hair. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," she tries, even though she doesn't mean that and she wants Santana to be there.

"I want to stay with you," Santana answers immediately, pulling Brittany into her lap. "It'll just take me a while to fit in."

"Oh," Brittany says dumbly. "I'm sorry, I hadn't thought—" She's known them for a decade; Santana hasn't.

"Ssh," Santana assures her, taking Brittany's lower lip between her own.

Brittany lets out a long satisfied breath, her hands on Santana's shoulders, when Rachel interrupts them.

"Making out is strictly forbidden! You must pay the price and make more drinks for everyone!"

Santana breaks the kiss. "You play with them. I'll make their drinks, okay?"

Brittany nods, feeling her heart drum in her chest.

 

 

CVIII

Santana is also, apparently, a skilled bartender: she fixes the mess in the kitchen, washes the dishes and makes everyone cocktails in record time.

Or maybe it's just because they are really drunk and really willing to praise anyone who gives them alcohol.

Santana gives them each a glass, saving Brittany for last. She has both their drinks in her hands; she tries to hand Brittany one; Brittany shakes her head and pats her lap.

Santana smiles a little, and complies. She crosses her legs elegantly as Brittany takes her glass and sips it, looking at Santana. Santana settles against Brittany, one arm around her neck, and she's so warm and pretty Brittany has to kiss her jaw.

"I like us better like this," Santana says so just Brittany can hear.

There's a beautiful feeling in the way Brittany's heart races to that; she nods – barely – before she says, "Me too; everything – it's been amazing."

"I'm trying," Santana says, even though she doesn't have to because Brittany knows, "I'm trying."

 

CIX

Santana is in the kitchen making drinks – again – when Rachel and Kurt sit by Brittany's side.

Kurt lets out a dreamy sigh. "You girls are adorable."

"When I first saw Santana," Rachel admits, slurring a bit with her words, "I didn't think she was capable of being cute, I must admit. She's like this sexy black panther in high heels and she's scary—"

Kurt, on the other hand, is very communicative when he drinks. "Santana, sitting on your lap and running the back of her hand on your face, looking at you like you're Dior's newest collection…"

"She makes exquisite cocktails, too, and even with my clouded judgment—"

Kurt doesn't wait for Rachel to finish. "It's so romantic!"

Mike clears his throat, interrupting the concurrent monologues. "Does she make you happy?"

Brittany doesn't need to think about that. "She does."

"Can we keep her?" Kurt asks.

Rachel nods solemnly – she tries to, at least.

Brittany smiles, taking Rachel's and Kurt's hands into her own. "You guys are only saying that because of the cupcakes."

"Well, I'll let you know it was merely a marginal influence," Rachel tries to defend herself, but Santana comes back with a tray of martini glasses and everyone has to make their best poker faces and change the subject.

 

CX

"I don't feel so well" Blaine says; he's hugging the toilet and whining in pain.

Kurt is asleep on the floor and Mike and Tina went home a while ago; it's just Brittany, washing the dishes, a drunken Rachel taking out the garbage, and Santana, in the bathroom with Blaine.

"There you go," she says softly, wrapping an arm around him to support his weight. His feet are wobbly but she manages to take him to the couch and make him sit. "Don't lie down, okay?"

Blaine nods, his eyes half closed.

Santana goes to the kitchen and takes the tea she had prepared; she offers the warm mug to Blaine.

"It'll make your stomach feel better," she promises, rubbing the back of his neck as he sips slowly.

Brittany feels equally parts guilty for having Santana take care of her drunken friends and fascinated to watch Santana care for someone else.

"You are the best," Blaine slurs between sips. "And I love your shoes."

Brittany stands by Santana's side and reaches for her hand. Santana intertwines their fingers slowly, still watching Blaine's small frown.

"I'll take them both home," she says quietly. "There is no space for them here and they shouldn't be left to their own devices right now."

Brittany smiles prettily. "That's really sweet of you."

"Your friends are my friends," Santana says, squeezing Brittany's hand.

Brittany bites her lip, trying not to think about how charming Santana can be sometimes.

 

CXI

Later she watches, leaning on her door frame, the three of them leave. Santana supports Blaine's weight on her shoulders and Kurt holds on to the walls so he won't fall.

"Are you and Santana okay now? Better, at least?" Rachel asks from behind her, resting her head on Brittany's shoulder.

"We are, I think," Brittany answers quietly. "We will be."

"I'm glad. We were worried about you," Rachel admits before she seems to realize what she just said. She stops for a moment before continuing, "just don't tell Mike I said that. We were not supposed to stick our noses into your relationship or whatever."

Brittany grins, looking at Rachel. "Okay."

Rachel yawns. "It's the martini speaking, really."

Brittany giggles, nudging Rachel with her shoulder. "Mhmm," she fake agrees.

Rachel tries to look indignant, but she fails. Brittany closes the door.


	13. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK WHO'S ALIVE IT'S ME

Brittany inhales. The smell of the cake in the oven is just delicious.

There were so many up sides to having a girlfriend who bakes, Brittany thinks with a smile. She should have done it before.

She stirs the melted chocolate slowly.

Without warning, Santana’s front meets her back, warm and soft. Santana rests her hands on Brittany’s waist, leaning in and saying in her ear, “You know what I was thinking”, in a low and sultry tone.

Santana sounds downright dirty. Brittany bites her lower lip, heart racing in anticipation.

“No idea,” she answers, never stopping her circular motion. Santana’s hot breath on her neck – her lips almost touching but not quite – causes her to shiver.

“I was thinking of you fucking me with a strap on.” Santana dips her index finger in the pan, just enough to gather some thick, dark chocolate and lick it, her tongue swirling around her finger. “While I’m blindfolded.”

Brittany closes her eyes as an immediate wave of desire washes over her. She should have known this conversation would lead to nothing good.

Santana’s hand rests over hers, making sure she never stops stirring. Brittany leans into Santana; she doesn’t have to look to know Santana is smiling.

“You, sweaty, on top of me,” Santana continues, “pounding into me, deep inside of me.” She wraps an arm around Brittany’s waist.

Brittany’s mouth feels suddenly dry – why does her mouth feel dry – and she licks her own lips.

“Or maybe you fucking me from behind,” Santana says, her hand palming Brittany’s stomach and going lower, “pulling my hair, while I’m on all fours for you. Only for you.”

The tips of her fingers sneak under the waistband of Brittany’s shorts.

Brittany is throbbing already, her legs opening to Santana.

“You can choose how you want me. Where you want me,” Santana says, turning off the stove. “What you want to do with me.”

Santana kisses Brittany’s neck open mouthed and hot, her tongue slow against Brittany’s skin. She lets go of the spoon and forgets about the chocolate, slipping her hand under Brittany’s shirt, and travelling upwards, pressing against Brittany’s muscles until she reaches Brittany’s breasts.

Brittany takes the opportunity to undo her own shorts, taking Santana’s hand and guiding it further down. “Don’t you dare consider stopping now,” she says with authority, letting out a breathy sigh when Santana smiles against her neck and bites, teeth sinking where Brittany’s neck meets her shoulder.

She runs two fingers on Brittany’s folds, back and forth, feeling the wetness; Brittany opens her legs further, ass grinding hard against Santana.

“I take it you like my idea,” Santana says before she presses her fingers to Brittany’s center.

Brittany whines, mouth half open in pleasure and eyes closed; she nods.

Santana slides her hand out of Brittany’s shorts and grabs Brittany’s hips, making them walk a few steps to the side. “Look at me,” she says, turning Brittany around and pushing her against the counter.

She slides her hand inside again, too urgent to bother taking off anyone’s clothing, and this time she presses harder, circles firmer, looking into Brittany’s eyes.

“You should have ideas more often,” Brittany pants, grabbing a fistful of clothing to bring Santana closer against her, “but right now I want you inside.”

Santana kisses her, with bite. “Your wish is my command,” she says, a little breathless, before she enters Brittany nice and slow.

Brittany moans; she needs more, and deeper, and faster. She pushes her shorts down, feeling them slide to her feet and – it’s perfect – Santana can twist her hand and change the angle, and Brittany bucks her hips when she hits the right spot roughly, over and over and over again.

“Open your eyes,” Santana commands after a particularly hard thrust, “and look at me.”

Brittany bites her lip, her arms around Santana’s neck for support, and when their eyes meet again Santana uses her thumb to rub Brittany’s clit every time she enters. Brittany feels breathless, looking at Santana as jolts of desire wash over her body – she feels so close to Santana, so aroused by the look on her face, like she wants to devour Brittany.

“Look at me when you come,” Santana repeats; Brittany is clenching around her fingers, trembling already, and she doesn’t need to tell Santana because Santana already knows—she manages to thrust even faster, harder and it’s too much.

She stops breathing for a moment, eyes locked to Santana’s, as her orgasm washes over her in a strong wave – hot, intense, sudden – and she clings to Santana for support. Her knees give, too weak to support her body.

Santana’s still inside of her, thumb rolling against her clit; the aftershocks begin and Brittany is still throbbing. She whines and frowns, giving it her best not to close her eyes, to continue to stare at Santana for as long as possible while she is in her arms.

“You’re beautiful,” Santana says, taking her fingers out slowly, running them on Brittany’s folds, teasing at Brittany’s entrance – Brittany’s so sensitive she can feel every touch so enhanced it almost hurts.

She holds Santana’s hand still. “Just give me a moment, will you,” she says, laughing a bit and hiding her face in Santana’s neck.

Santana kisses the side of her head and withdraws her hand. “Of course. We still have to bake a cake.”

+

“This one is so big,” Brittany says, holding the package in her hands.

Santana places the dildo back on the counter and turns to Brittany. “You think I can’t take,” she says, looking at the package before looking straight to Brittany, “seven inches of you?”

Brittany clears her throat, her eyes widening. “Santana,” she whispers, blushing furiously.

Santana smiles, a little too amused for Brittany’s liking. She takes the package and reads its characteristics. “Do you like it?” she asks, turning it around in her hands for a better look, “Can you imagine yourself fucking me with it?”

Brittany has no doubt. “Yes.”

Santana takes her time to lick her lips, well aware of how Brittany’s breath catches. “Then it’s settled,” she says, walking over to the other wall. “Now we just need to decide which flavor you’ll like the most when you lick the massage oil off my body.”

+

Brittany looks at Santana, standing in front of her with a red robe, wrapped loosely around her waist. Her hair is down, soft curves falling on her shoulder; Brittany can see the swell of her breasts, the valley between.

She touches Santana’s collarbone with her fingertips.  “Are you sure about this?” she asks.

Santana nods, taking Brittany’s hand and guiding it to her breasts. Brittany’s fingertips push the fabric aside.

Brittany doesn’t need any other encouragement; she places a hand on the back of Santana’s neck and pulls her in for a kiss. Santana opens her lips promptly, letting Brittany’s tongue take over – their tongues rubbing together – as Brittany explores her mouth.

Brittany unties Santana’s robe and sneaks her hands inside, bringing Santana’s naked body against hers. She sucks Santana’s tongue, palming her back under the fabric.

Santana sighs and arches her back, her arms wrapping around Brittany’s neck.

The robe falls on the ground.

Brittany leads them to the bed, settling on top of Santana. She locks their eyes, examining Santana’s face and looking for insecurities. Santana nods, encouraging, and Brittany reaches for the black scarf and wraps it around Santana’s head, covering her eyes.

Santana’s smile is just naughty.

“Will you be a good girl and do as I say?” Brittany tries, and Santana nods. “That’s my girl.”

She lies by Santana’s side and starts by letting her fingers wonder. She makes sure her touch is light as a feather, barely enough to be felt, as she traces Santana’s collarbone, circles her breasts and runs a long line between them until she reaches Santana’s belly button.

She looks at Santana’s skin and she can see her shivering, her breasts rising and falling quickly with anticipation.

She starts her way up, touching Santana’s stomach, under her breasts, before she touches the nipples, feeling them growing hard under her fingertips.

“Hands on the headboard,” she commands quietly. Santana complies.

She reaches for the bowl on the side of the bed and takes an ice cube. Santana hisses when it meets her skin, sliding down her breasts until her lower belly before coming up again. Brittany takes her time, applying more pressure when she reaches Santana’s breasts and circles her nipple, and then the other.

When the cube touches Santana’s peak Santana breathes loudly through her nose, her grasp on the headboard tightening as Brittany alternates between nipples, making sure they’re both sensitive.

“I bet you can’t wait for it,” Brittany whispers on her ear, “to have me buried inside of you.”

Santana’s ankles sink on the bed as she tries not to move her hips.

“All in due time,” Brittany tells her. She pinches Santana’s nipples, earning her first moan – drawn out and deep. “First, we must make sure you’re ready.”

She bites the spot beneath Santana’s ear, licking it afterwards. “Use one hand to touch yourself.”

Santana nods, letting her hand roam her own body, still wet from the melted ice, before reaching her final destination.

“Go slow. No need to rush,” Brittany says, biting her own lip as she watches Santana stroke her own clit, back and forth, letting out small whimpers every time. “Spread your legs a little more.”

Santana does so, flexing her knees and exposing herself.

“Let me see your hand,” Brittany asks, taking Santana’s palm into her own. Santana’s fingers are soaked, and Brittany takes them in her mouth. She sucks on Santana’s fingers, licks them, the tip of her tongue swirling around their tips, teasingly.

Santana doesn’t even breathe until Brittany is finished.

“Hands on the headboard,” Brittany says, waiting for Santana to obey before taking another cube. She takes it to Santana’s clit; Santana curses right away, hips bucking in the air.

Brittany runs the cube on Santana’s folds, savoring the sounds Santana makes. She strokes Santana’s clit with it, firm and fast, until Santana is panting and on the verge.

She stops suddenly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re not allowed to orgasm until I say, are we clear?”

Santana nods eagerly.

Brittany leaves the bed and takes the strap on. “On all fours,” she says, smiling when Santana does exactly as told.

What a glorious ass, Brittany thinks as she steps into the harness and adjusts the bands. “Look at you, all nice and ready,” she says. She pulls Santana back, until she’s on the edge of the bed.

“Get me wet,” Brittany orders, taking the cock and lining it over Santana’s folds.

Santana lets out a painful moan, moving her hips so the extension of the cock rubs against her folds; Brittany grabs her ass and intensifies the pace.

“Not enough, Britt—“ she tries to say, her hands fisting the sheets. “Please—“

“Tell me what you want.” Brittany says, moving her own hips – she’s touching Santana’s clit again, on purpose, wanting to hear Santana beg. “Nicely.”

“I want you to fuck me senseless,” Santana pants between moans. “Please. I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk.”

Brittany positions the cock at Santana’s entrance and thrusts at once, without warning, grabbing Santana’s hair and pulling it back.

“I wonder how I should do it,” she says to Santana’s ear, not moving the cock inside of her. “Gentle or hard. Slow or fast.”

Santana arches her body, groaning.

Brittany takes the cock out completely before slamming into Santana again, rough and strong. “Does anybody else make you feel this good, Santana?” Brittany asks, hips slapping against Santana. “Can anybody fuck you like this? As good as I can?”

She lets go of Santana’s hair to pull Santana against her, fucking her relentlessly; she soon feels the sweat forming on her back, running down her spine, but she doesn’t slow down.

Santana collapses on the bed, and Brittany takes advantage to place her hands on the bed, by Santana’s sides, and pick up the pace, her own weight against Santana every time she thrusts.

She feels Santana’s legs tensing, her toes curling against Brittany.

“Did I tell you to come? I don’t think so,” she tells Santana and stops, still inside of her.

She takes the cock out.

“I’m sorry, Britt, please—“ Santana whines and throws her hips back, “Please, baby, please—“

“Turn around.”

Santana obeys, lying on her back. Brittany settles between her legs and pushes the cock inside slowly, inch by inch. “Are you going to do as I say this time?”

“Yes,” Santana hisses, locking her legs around Brittany’s waist. “I promise.”

Brittany enters her again, attaching her mouth to Santana’s breasts. Santana raises her hips as Brittany’s pushes down, her hands in Brittany’s hair.

Brittany takes a bite, increasing the speed of her thrusts. Santana’s nails are clinging to her back; all she hears is Santana’s heavy breathing and her moans every time Brittany hits  _that_ particular spot.

She takes off the scarf to look into Santana’s eyes as she touches her clit roughly. “Touch your breasts,” she says.

Santana cups her own breasts and pinches her nipples, eyes closing and mouth parting.

“Do you want to come, Santana?” Brittany slams into her, “Do you want to come around my cock?”

Santana nods, mumbling a yes. Brittany rubs her clit and picks up the pace, entering Santana as hard as she can – her lower back is aching already, her legs are sore – until Santana is pulling her for a kiss, thighs clenching, her entire body trembling against Brittany’s.

Brittany slow her thrusts, letting Santana ride it out. “Good girl,” she says, kissing Santana’s cheek. “That’s more like it.”

Santana whines when Brittany slides out, panting.

She gets rid of the harness and climbs on the bed, pulling Santana with her. Santana places her head on Brittany’s shoulder; for a moment they just breathe together.

“Thank you,” Santana finally says, kissing Brittany’s shoulder.

Brittany smiles. “My pleasure.”

Santana seems to realize something. “You know what would be  _your_  pleasure? You sitting on my face.”

“ _God_.”

+

Santana puts a pillow under her head so that she’s the perfect height. She takes a long, flat lick; Brittany gasps and clings to the headboard.

She licks again – deeper, slower – and again, mumbling against Brittany. “I love how you taste.”

Brittany throbs, groaning something indistinguishable in response. Santana smiles against her, her tongue teasing at Brittany’s entrance with short strokes.

She’s lucky she’s being held firmly by Santana’s hands – not moving her hips is almost impossible when Santana is literally drinking her as much as possible.

She was already soaked after fucking Santana, after Santana’s surrender; she rolls her eyes to the back of her head when Santana’s lips find her clit and she sucks, hard.

“Baby, I’m not going to last like this,” she tries to say, biting her lower lip so hard she almost breaks skin

“Then come on my mouth,” Santana answers, tongue flat against Brittany’s clit, tongue around Brittany’s clit, mouth sucking Brittany’s clit.

She enters three fingers at once, curling them inside Brittany, stretching her easily, filling her, her mouth still on Brittany’s center—

It barely takes ten minutes for Brittany to tense up, her forehead pressed against the wall as she moans Santana’s name, tumbling over the edge at once, unexpected, and then she collapses by Santana’s side.

She groans when she realizes Santana is licking her fingers clean and smiling.

“I told you,” Santana says with a smirk. “You taste delicious.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In order to untangle the plot and finish the story, it's not divided in two parts, with a lovely porn interlude in between. Part II starts now. 
> 
> Hang there.

**SUBWAY RIDES**

PART II

I

Rachel steps into the living room, bangs clinging to the sweat on her forehead.

Brittany waves at her over her magazine, chewing her sandwich. “Good run?”

“Yes, Brittany. Thank you for asking. Very invigorating!” Rachel says, 5-syllable words dropping from her mouth like it’s no big deal. “And you’ve got correspondence.”

She places the envelope on Brittany’s lap and goes for a shower.

Brittany examines the soft material, the light peach color of the envelope, the pleasant smell that rises from it.

She stares at the address and the RSVP info. What _is_ black tie, anyway? Cocktail dresses? Does she have a long fancy dress?

Isn’t Quinn supposed to hate her guts and challenge her to a throw down in a dark alley for having made her best friend cry?

She dials Santana’s number. “Am I invited to Quinn’s birthday? Really?”

“Hey you,” Santana answers, melodious. “Nice to talk to you as well.”

Brittany rolls her eyes, smiling. “Hi, Santana, how are you today?”

“I’m very well, thank you.” She replies, laughing shortly. “And yes, I believe you are.”

“Who sends invites through the mail in the 21st century?”

“Be good, Britt,” Santana admonishes; there’s the faint sound of fingers typing on a keyboard in the background. “Quinn’s family is old fashioned.”

She nods to no one in particular. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

Santana hums. “I’ll take you shopping. How about that, baby?”

Brittany blushes at the nickname, biting back a smile. “Sounds good.”

She can hear Santana’s smile on the other side of the line. “We’re going to look gorgeous, trust me.”

II

It’s a great idea, yes.

Santana looks delicious in a navy blue dress, a black belt directing all the attention to her slim waist and barely adequate cleavage.

“You’re stunning.” She’s standing behind Brittany, looking into her eyes in the mirror, both hands on Brittany’s waist. “I think we have a winner.”

Brittany looks at her reflection. The black and white dress is really something else: ornately patterned bodice that creates a mock turtle neckline; nothing but classic A-line skirt down to her knees.

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked this good.” She does a half twirl, the skirt moving with grace around her thighs, to look at Santana face-to-face.

Santana places a lock of hair behind Brittany’s ear, the tips of her fingers fluttering over her jaw.

They’re both smiling; Brittany’s cheek feels warm.

III

“Let’s get you out of this,” Santana says in her ear, unzipping the dress slowly, her body brushing against Brittany’s from behind.

Her hands brushagainst Brittany’s body as she steps out of the dress; Brittany shivers.

Santana carefully places the dress back on its hanger. Her gaze lingers on Brittany’s semi-naked body, appreciative.

Brittany licks her lips. “Like what you see?”

Santana hums, a hand on Brittany’s hip to push her against the wall. “Very much,” she says, voice octaves lower than usual.

She claims Brittany’s lips in a wet kiss, scratching Brittany’s waist and earning a whimper.

She breaks the kiss when Brittany’s hand finds the zipper on the back of her dress.

“Not here.” She runs her index finger over the corner of her lips, cleaning the smudges of lipstick in a way she has to know will get Brittany even more bothered.

“So not fair,” she huffs, but puts her old dress on anyway.

IV

The saleswoman beams at their choice, of course; a 500-dollar dress isn’t just any purchase.

Brittany supposes her 600-dollar savings were for moments like these, reaching within her purse for her wallet.

Santana holds her wrist and hands her own credit card over. “This one is on me.”

“Santana, no,” Brittany says, taking a step forward to stop her.

“I never gave you a proper gift.” Santana says softly, eyes never leaving Brittany’s. “I want to. Let me.”

She looks at Santana for several moments before sighing in defeat, placing her wallet back in her purse. "Okay.”

Santana smiles wide, pushing her card towards the saleswoman and turning to Brittany. “Thank you,” she says, stealing a kiss.

“No, thank _you_ ,” Brittany answers, kissing Santana’s temple and wrapping an arm around her waist.

V

Rachel sips Kurt’s martini. “Sorry, Kurt, but Santana’s much better.”

Kurt scoffs, pulling the poker chips in his direction. “You are just a sore loser, Ms. Rachel Berry.”

Mike chews gum, wearing sunglasses because “this is how poker players do it”, and deals the next hand.

Brittany’s got two kings. Awesome. She sips her drink, trying not to let her emotions show.

Poker face. No they can’t read her poker face.

Blaine points at her. “But let’s not drop the subject here. She bought you a dress?”

“It’s so lovely!” Rachel claps her hands, almost dropping her cards in the process. “So elegant.”

Mike bumps Brittany’s shoulder a bit. “What are you, a princess or something?” He mocks, stupid smile on his face.

Tina, on his right, slaps his shoulder. “You should buy _me_ dresses.”

It shuts him right up. Brittany sticks out her tongue at him and raises the bet.

Her phone rings the Santana Ringtone. She picks it up right away. “Hi,” she says, a little breathless.

Mike fake-makes out with thin air, slurping sounds and everything. Tina swats his arm again, rolling her eyes.

“Hey there. Having fun at poker night?”

She stares at Blaine’s hesitation before dropping out of the round. “Yes. How’s your party planning?”

“You know Quinn,” Santana says with an exaggerated sigh. “She gets off on micromanaging.” Quinn says _hey!_ in the background. “She has something to ask you.”

Quinn? Something to ask? “Yes?”

“We have a tradition. Every year, after her fancy and boring celebration we go to a club and have some real fun. Would you and the _gang_ ,” Santana stresses the final word, mocking, “like to come with us?”

It’s probably a big deal. Brittany’s friends and Santana’s friends, together. “Really?”

“Of course. All on Quinn. No one pays for anything on her birthday.”

She takes the phone away from her ear and muffles the microphone area with her hand. “Guys,” she calls their attention. “ _Guys_ ,” she whines until everyone is focused on her. “Santana is inviting us to go out clubbing next Saturday. Quinn is paying. It’s her birthday.”

“YES!” Rachel and Kurt scream at the same time. “SANTANA, WE LOVE YOU!”

Santana laughs, clearly aware of the conversation. “Tell them I love them right back.”

Brittany tries really hard not to blush.

Mike and Tina share a look before turning to Brittany and nodding in unison. “We’re on board.”

“Count me in,” Blaine adds, finishing his drink.

“Great,” Santana answers, voice business-like mode. “One more thing: can we get ready at your place? We figured it would be the quickest option. We can all go together from there.”

“Sure.”

“Great, great,” she said, focused voice turning softer at the end. “Have fun. Take all their money and buy me a drink.”

Brittany smiles like a goof.

VI

Rachel lends her the earrings, necklace and black handbag five days in advance.

The both of them might be a little too anxious for their own good.

VII

The elevator doors slide open and it’s _wow_.

The Fabrays do know how to make an impression.

The glass walls all around bring so much space and the gorgeous, gorgeous view of Fifth Avenue spreads out under them.

Brittany takes some time to take it all in; the expensive decoration, dark tones contrasting with hot colors, impeccably dressed staff putting on the last touches.

She sees Santana at a distance, posing with the Fabrays for a family picture, and makes a mental note.

Santana turns around and spots Brittany.

She’s in a deep red dress that reaches her knees and it’s something else. Brittany takes a deep breath. Straight neckline and cap sleeves, print decorating the entire length with two-tone fabric, and pitch black tights.

Sex on legs.

Suddenly Santana is right in front of her. “Hi.”

“You’re gorgeous,” she blurts out, because _really_.

Santana runs her fingers down the back of Brittany’s arm, smiling. “I think you meant _you’re_ gorgeous.”

“Nope,” Brittany shakes her head enthusiastically. “It’s definitely you.”

Santana smiles and intertwines their fingers. “C’mon, you have to meet the family.”

Wait. No one had said anything about family!

VIII

The Fabray parents turn around, bright white smiles and smooth blond hair.

“So this is the famous Brittany Pierce,” the woman says, champagne in one hand as she offers the other. “I’m Judy.”

Brittany takes her hand and kisses her cheeks. She smells citric and sharp. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Russell,” he says, his voice deep and masculine. He kisses Brittany’s hand like a gentleman. “And you’re much more beautiful than Santana let on.”

Santana’s firm arm sneaks around Brittany’s waist. “I wanted to say you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, but they would think I was just bragging.”

Brittany blushes over the blush that’s already on her cheeks, if that’s even possible.

Judy spots something in the distance, elegant neck turning to her right. “Oh, look, the mayor and his wife have just arrived. We should say hello to them.”

“Of course,” Russell says, his good-natured eyes resting on Brittany’s. “We should have you over for dinner. We’re not done with you yet.”

“Only if you make the lasagna.” Santana takes two champagne glasses from the nearest waiter and hands Brittany one, turning to Judy.

Judy smiles motherly and proud. “Anything you want, sweetie.”

Brittany’s heart thumps violently in her chest as the Fabrays excuse themselves.

“That was good. Right?” She looks at Santana, eyes wide.

“That was perfect.” Santana squeezes her waist, posture relaxing. “You’re just lucky you’re cute.”

Brittany wants to kiss her so bad; she curses the red lipstick, so inviting and so forbidden.

Santana’s face turns softer, smoother, and she takes a deep breath as if she wants to say something. Brittany waits.

“Thank you,” she starts, hesitant. “The Fabrays are really important to me.” She finishes her drink, trying to look cool – and failing. “My coming out was… complicated, and I was just a teenager. They took me in.”

Brittany wants to take that old, that present pain and lift it, fold it away. She cups the back of Santana’s neck.

Santana just looks at her for a moment, leaning into her touch. “I don’t really talk to my father.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

Santana shrugs. “Nothing I can do.” She grabs Brittany’s hand and tries a smile. “Now let’s find Quinn so you can wish her a happy birthday.”

Off they go.


End file.
